


when i fall, don't let me drown

by vwritesaus



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fluff, Haikyuu Big Bang 2020, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Mentions of Toxic Relationships, One Night Stands, Other characters make appearances - Freeform, Post-Time Skip, Self-Reflection, Strangers to Lovers, Swearing, loving yourself, other ships are included
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 05:48:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 44,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29994834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vwritesaus/pseuds/vwritesaus
Summary: Bokuto has never wanted to reach out and touch anyone more than he does right now, to trace his fingertips over skin and remind himself of its smoothness, to commit to memory any perfect imperfections and secret zones that pour love from their cliffs. He’s been in love before, has thrown himself into relationships with beautiful people who possessed caring hands and adoring gazes, but Bokuto hasn’t ever wanted to touch them as badly as he wants to touch Akaashi.In which one night changes everything, and Bokuto learns to aim for the sky.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53
Collections: Haikyuu Big Bang 2020





	when i fall, don't let me drown

**Author's Note:**

> hello there - welcome to the first monster fic to grace this account, and it's for the HQBB 2020 event!! 
> 
> A HUGE, MEGA, SCREAMING SHOUT OUT to the _AMAZING_ [Toasty](https://twitter.com/_toasti/) for being my beta and just an overall lovely human being, and for dealing with my plethora of typos and inconsistent phrasings and australian lingo. you are a legend and i'm forever grateful to you and for all your hard work ♡ couldn't have gotten to this point without you ;;
> 
> AND ANOTHER HUGE, MEGA, SCREAMING SHOUT OUT to the _FABULOUS_ [Savannah](https://twitter.com/thehappyhedgie/) for being my artist and another overall lovely human being, whose art for this fic makes me cry in joy and i'll provide a link to it once it's posted!! you are also a legend and i'm so in love with it ♡ you've done the scene justice and thank you for all your hard work!! 
> 
> please check these two out, i am beyond words for how awesome they are ♡ i love you guys so much
> 
> i had such a blast writing this (and might have gotten a little carried away lol), and i sincerely hope you enjoy bokuaka finding love together in an alternate post time skip scenario ♡

Walking along a brick path in a park at the lingering end of dusk hits differently after a breakup.

Nothing physical about the park has changed. The trees are in their usual spots with their branches dipping along the edges of the footpath, the flowers are nodding themselves to sleep, and the pond at the opposite gate ripples as its habitants find a nook amongst the reeds to retire for the day. Muted gold shrouds the grounds, encasing each individual leaf, blade of grass and pebble. It’s a beautiful sight to behold for anyone who comes across it.

But as Bokuto dawdles down that brick path at the better part of seven o’clock, head down and eyes on his shoes, he cannot appreciate the image in all its glory; cannot smile at the ducks waddling towards the edge of the pond; cannot stare at the stars blinking into existence beyond the treetops. All he can focus on are the words circling in his mind, each one delivering a blow more devastating than the last.

Anyone passing him by would just assume he’s moving aimlessly, daydreaming, lost in thought. Most would even assume he’s thinking mundane things, such as _I should make rice when I get home_ or _I should call that client tomorrow morning when I get into work_.

What do they know?

Bokuto notices a bench up ahead, and the ramblings silence for just a second as he considers taking a seat. But the moment he sits down, legs outstretched and neck resting on the back of the bench, they return with a vengeance so harsh he feels the first signs of tears prick at his eyes.

It shouldn’t suck this bad, surely? He saw the signs, after all.

(He didn’t see the signs.

(That’s what he gets for being ignorant.)

He takes out his phone and fiddles with it between his fingers as a means to focus on something else other than his stupid inner voice. He had sent his best friend, Kuroo, an _are you home?_ text an hour ago, and while he knows that Kuroo’s probably still at work or spending his evening doing other important life things, Bokuto keeps checking his phone periodically in case he’s received a reply. He does it again now, the glare from the phone bright and the lock screen void of any new notifications.

_Fuck. But it’s fine… it’s fine… he’ll reply when he can._

Bokuto glances up at the sky again, taking in the ombré hues of blue and black and gold painting the expanse. It really is a pretty sight, but with the events of the past few hours plaguing him, eating at his subconscious, it’s hard to pay attention to the blurred boundaries when he has his own to deal with.

_Was what I said wrong? Should I have fought harder? Was it my fault—totally was, otherwise she wouldn’t’ve done it, right? Right…?_

Bokuto’s phone vibrates in his hands, startling him out of his thoughts; it does it again a second later and he sees his and Kuroo’s faces filling the screen, their noses scrunched and eyes crinkled at the corners from large, toothy grins. It takes Bokuto three long seconds to realise that his best friend, instead of spamming him with kaomojis and exclamation marks like he usually does, is calling him.

Picking up immediately, he croaks out, ‘Kuroo?’

_‘Bokuto, I’m_ so _sorry!_ ’ Kuroo’s voice is breathless and Bokuto can make out someone grumbling in the background; it’s probably Kenma. ‘ _My phone died at work, and we just got home—shit, yeah we’re home if you wanna come ‘round. Are you okay?’_

The question is innocent enough, and Bokuto knows the reply should be _yeah, I’m okay,_ because that’s what society has taught him to say in answer to this specific set of words. He knows that no one _really_ wants to know if he’s okay or not, especially if not, because who has time to worry about someone else’s problems?

And as the accusation that had offered his severed relationship to the dirt on a plate echoes in his head, Bokuto wants to grab a needle and sew his lips shut.

But if there’s anyone who can see through his attempts of faux happiness—because he’s not a moody teenager anymore, and no one will tolerate a tantrum from him now—it’s Kuroo. If anyone can pick apart even the slightest thing off with him, it’s Kenma. If anyone can smell a sad Bokuto just by the way he inhales, it’s those two. There’s no hiding from them and Bokuto is well aware of this.

So he allows himself to be selfish just one last time. He’ll adhere to _keep your problems to yourself_ tomorrow with three mugs of sugary coffee and the fabrics needed to stitch up his patched heart.

‘No,’ he whispers into the receiver, ‘I’m not okay.’

* * *

When Bokuto met Kuroo six years ago, it was the result of a misaligned serve on a volleyball court, where instead of landing just shy of the base line, the ball had swerved beyond the white edges and into Kuroo’s shin. It had been enough to send them both packing to the nurse’s office, Bokuto apologising profusely and Kuroo with his arm thrown over Bokuto’s shoulders, limping and laughing and cussing him out all at once.

(They had exchanged phone numbers while Kuroo sat on the edge of a bed and Bokuto shifted from foot to foot in front of him. Bokuto promised no more shin attacks and Kuroo swore an oath to return the favour by beating him on the national stage.)

As he sits on the couch in Kenma and Kuroo’s living room, cradling a tub of vanilla ice-cream against his chest, Bokuto is heavily reminded of that fateful day, though there are a few key differences: Kuroo’s cusses are not aimed at him, his laughs are humourless, and his limp is the cause of a stubbed toe against the coffee table leg. He paces the distance between the couch and the other end of the living room, running his hands through his hair and muttering out a lot of choice words. Bokuto’s about to open his mouth to say something when he spots Kenma coming out of the kitchenette. In his hands are three large spoons.

‘Kuro.’

Kenma’s voice is soft, but there’s an edge to it that immediately makes Kuroo stop. Bokuto watches as Kenma sinks down into the space next to him, tucking his legs and going straight for the ice-cream. He gets a decent amount and shoves it unceremoniously into Bokuto’s mouth before he gets some for himself, smirking victoriously around his spoon as Bokuto fights to prevent any ice-cream from dripping onto his shirt. Bokuto can’t get mad, especially when Kenma curls into his side, guiding the tub so that it sits between them on both their thighs. It’s rare that he indulges in any physical affection, even with Kuroo on most days, so to have him like this, pressed into him and linking their arms together… it sets something soaring into Bokuto’s throat.

He catches Kuroo gazing fondly at them, all signs of his previous disdain gone from the centre of his face. But then he locks eyes with Bokuto and a deep scowl overtakes the dip of his eyebrows and corners of his mouth.

‘Bo,’ he starts, crossing his arms over his chest, ‘what exactly happened? Like yeah, okay, you guys broke up, she said those awful things to you before kicking you out, but there’s more to it, surely? But that’s if you wanna talk about it.’

Sighing through his nose, Bokuto mulls it over. He can talk about it, of course. He’s never kept anything from Kuroo or Kenma in the past, and he’s not about to start now. The problem lies at the heart of the matter, which is that Bokuto doesn’t really know the whole truth. He can take Megumi’s word on why she did what she did, but was she being honest with him? After all, the entire situation reeks of lies, which is what Bokuto had called her out on and what sparked the argument.

But he supposes he’ll just get a headache if he thinks too much about it. Might as well just tell his friends what he knows… maybe they might have a better idea what the hell this all means.

‘I, um…’ Bokuto begins softly, swallowing thickly. ‘I found out that she’s seeing another guy. This was about a week ago or something… can’t really remember. But I decided to talk to her tonight. So I asked her about it. About why she lied to me.

‘Megumi just… started yelling at me. “How could you ask me that?” “Are you stupid?” “Have you been snooping in my phone?” Stuff like that. Went on for ages—don’t think I said much because it was just her screaming. But the worst part? She didn’t even deny it.’

He shrugs noncommittally and stops. Kuroo and Kenma know the rest, so he doesn’t need to continue—and glancing at them, it’s just as well he didn’t for Kuroo’s gnashing his teeth together and Kenma’s gripping his spoon so hard Bokuto can see the skin of his knuckles turning white.

‘I-I mean,’ he stutters, panicking as Kuroo starts to pace again. ‘It’s fine, really! Guess it was coming and all—shoulda known it was gonna happen since I—’

‘Bokuto.’

The words peter out somewhere at the back of Bokuto’s throat at Kenma’s cool tone. His spoon has found itself a temporary home in the ice-cream, which is the only thing Bokuto can focus on without looking directly into Kenma’s face or acknowledging that Kuroo has begun a new litany of swears. But the second Kenma’s hand lands on his knee, Bokuto’s faced with glinted, smouldering gold. 

‘This isn’t your fault,’ is the only thing he tells Bokuto.

Shifting in his seat, Bokuto averts his gaze from Kenma’s deep eyes. It’s scary how easily Kenma can fish out the problem lounging in Bokuto’s subconscious, and he knows it’s not his fault… truly, he knows. He thinks so, anyway—and yet he finds himself replying with, ‘It kinda is…’

Kenma sighs and Kuroo scoffs.

‘She say that to you?’ Bokuto’s silence seems to be enough of an answer for Kuroo because he moves towards the couch, wagging a finger as he adds, ‘This is _not_ your fault. You’ve done nothing wrong, d’you understand me? You’re not the one who went behind her back and fucking—shit, I can’t believe she did that to you, the _bitch_ —’

Bokuto winces. ‘Bro, come on…’

Kuroo sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly as he sinks down onto the coffee table opposite the pair.

‘Sorry, Bo,’ he murmurs. ‘I know you don’t like that word… but I think it’s deserved this time.’

Spooning out some ice-cream, Bokuto says nothing. Kuroo grasps the opportunity to keep talking, and his tone is vicious as he takes the last spoon Kenma offers him and aggressively stabs at an especially frozen part of the tub, clacking against Kenma’s abandoned spoon as he does so. 

‘Why anyone would cheat on you is beyond me. Why anyone would think it’s okay to cheat in the first place is beyond me.’ Getting about half a spoon’s worth of ice-cream, Kuroo puts it in his mouth and grumbles around it, ‘I’ll be honest, I never liked her, and I’m not just saying that because it’s “time to hate on the ex now that you’ve broken up”—she treated you like shit. But I didn’t wanna interfere with your relationship.’

Bokuto can only stare, the words taking a moment to filter through his head. They don’t really make all that much sense, because Kuroo’s always been upfront with him, and has always shared his opinions despite there being the possibility of him or anyone else disagreeing with him. Such past opinions have included his absolute hatred of Bokuto’s former partners while they were still together _and_ the “disgusting” taste of vanilla ice-cream. _It’s just sugar! There’s no flavour. Give me chocolate over that any day_ , he had said one summer back in high school.

Yet there he is, attacking the ice-cream in order to get another bite and openly expressing his contempt for Bokuto’s girlfriend—

Ex… ex-girlfriend.

Everything suddenly feels tight. There’s a pressure coming from behind his eyes, hot and furious and lining his cheeks, and it’s all just a little too much and his hold loosens on the tub. He can’t look at Kuroo or at Kenma, can’t let them see—

‘Bo? Hey, you—’ Kuroo lets out a soft sound and there’s a clatter as his spoon lands on the coffee table. ‘Hey, buddy, please don’t cry. C’mere—’

Bokuto’s forehead meets Kuroo’s bony shoulder—and it really is bony, causing more discomfort than anything else, but it’s warm and Kuroo is holding him so gently that it makes the last of Bokuto’s fragile resolve crumble into stardust, joining the rest of the galaxy pooling along the legs of the couch.

‘I’m pathetic, I’m sorry,’ he sobs, burying his face into the softer part of Kuroo’s neck. ‘I’m pathetic cause I still love her, and I know I shouldn’t, but it fucking hurts.’

‘I know.’ Bokuto feels Kuroo’s voice vibrate against his cheek before he hears it, and he loses himself in the sensation as Kuroo adds, ‘It sucks. I hate seeing you like this.’

‘I hate feeling like this,’ Bokuto tells him, sniffling. ‘I don’t wanna go through it anymore.’

Kuroo says nothing, but he doesn’t need to anyway. Bokuto knows what he’s thinking, because Megumi isn’t the first person to do something like this. In the three years since they graduated high-school (and even a few months before that), there has been someone in his love-life who has, in some way, left him and hurt him. Kuroo and Kenma have always been there to pick up the pieces, but after tonight, Bokuto is one-hundred-and-twenty percent certain that he really _cannot_ do this again. He cannot keep putting his friends through his relationship woes like this.

It’s like Megumi said, right? It’s _selfish_. If you really love someone… you need to make sacrifices.

‘ _Keep your problems to yourself. No one cares about such trivial things like you do.’_

Bokuto can vaguely hear Kuroo murmuring something along the lines of _by the way, you’re not pathetic—Megumi’s pathetic and needs to be taught a fucking lesson_ , but he’s preoccupied by the dull feeling of nothing washing over his body. He’s aware of Kuroo’s bony shoulder and soft neck, of the vibrations against his face as Kuroo speaks; aware of the softening paper tub stuck to his fingertips and the heady scent of melting vanilla; but the heavy emptiness sitting comfortably in his stomach far outweighs Kuroo’s good intentions of, no doubt, dragging Megumi’s name through the mud.

What brings him out of his numb stupor is a hand in his hair—gentle… so gentle—fingers carding through the strands from the base of his neck upwards. 

‘We’ll get your stuff from her place tomorrow for you,’ Kenma’s voice says gently. ‘You’re not alone in this, okay? And Kuroo’s right. You’re not pathetic.’

Bokuto lifts his head, blinking a few times to make the little static stars disappear from Kenma’s face. When they do, he’s met with nothing but overwhelming sympathy and fondness and everything in between.

_Fuck_ , he has great friends.

Unable to say anything more, Bokuto merely nods and wipes the skin under his eyes, coldness erupting from how frozen his fingers have become. The next thing he knows is that the ice-cream tub is gone from his hands—spoon included—and his back has met the couch cushions. Something chooses to flutter close to his heart as Kenma presses into his side once again, only this time joined by Kuroo who, for the first time that evening, sits down.

‘Come on, let’s forget about Megumi,’ Kuroo murmurs as he drapes an arm over Bokuto’s shoulders. A dark grey remote sits in his hand. ‘I heard there’s a good show airing right now—think you might like it…’

His words trail off as Bokuto loses himself in the warmth surrounding him. Kenma’s fingers are back in his hair, consoling, and Kuroo’s arm seems to not want to move away from his shoulders any time soon. Bokuto has to admit that it does make him feel less sad, but the stamp _pathetic_ remains firmly glued to his forehead even as the television comes alive and some kind of serial starts playing on the monitor.

* * *

Upon the cusp of end of year exams and graduation, Bokuto had been faced with two glaring decisions: go to university or try-out for a professional volleyball club. Given his somewhat abysmal grades in his third year, university seemed like an unreachable goal at the time; given his personal life, volleyball seemed unreachable too.

In the end, he’d gone with neither, choosing to go from poorly-paid job to poorly-paid job for the better part of a year in order to safely walk into a konbini, raid the bento section and still have some change in his pocket. But now, as he loosens his tie and waves goodbye to his co-workers— _see you tomorrow, Goya-san! Fujiwara-kun!_ —Bokuto walks straight past a Lawson’s without a second glance. His eyes, instead, are fixated on the familiar route towards a place that’s become a favourite of his to visit some nights after work.

The shop sign lights up the footpath on the corner as Bokuto turns into a side street, neon red splotching across the concrete and day-old wrinkled shirts from business people who go under it. Bokuto doesn’t hesitate to cross over to the entrance, entering a room laden in muted crimson and loud chatter that’s spilling out the open door.

_Perfect! Now just to wait for Kuroo to finish his meeting,_ he thinks as he loiters at the end of the bar, trying politely to catch the eye of the bartender.

Kuroo and Bokuto had found this particular izakaya not too long after Bokuto had started working at their company. Since then, they’ve frequently come in after a gruelling day at work—fun, in all honesty, but still exhausting—allowing themselves one drink and a shared plate of fried gyoza before heading home. Aside from the job and the strong taste lining the insides of their glasses, it’s reminiscent of their school days, of the volleyball tournaments where, after a match or two, they’d run off the court (with Kuroo dragging Kenma along most of the time) in search of a vending machine or two. They’d sit on the steps with yoghurt and juice, chips, a chocolate that Kuroo would swallow in one go, and a can of coffee that Bokuto would insist he _had_ to try despite knowing that Kenma would be the one finishing it off because Bokuto hated the bitter taste of it.

Funny how time flies.

Bokuto’s phone buzzes in his pocket just as the bartender locks eyes with him, and he only has enough time to read the cut off _Bokuto, buddy, they’re keeping me back…_ before he’s asked what he’d like to order. Sighing softly, he orders something from the tap and quickly opens Kuroo’s message:

**Kyoudai ( Φ ω Φ ) [18:47]**

Bokuto, buddy, they’re keeping  
me back tonight

Won’t be able to make it (╥_╥)

I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a  
drink for me, ok? I’ll make it up  
to youuuu

He laughs under his breath at the idea of Kuroo singing that last line in a high-pitch voice—which he would totally do, Bokuto knows this—and cannot help but forgive him. 

**Bokuto Koutarou** **[18:49]**

will do bro

make sure you get out alive before  
9, ok?

i don’t wanna find ya sleepin at  
your desk again in the mornin

and im sure Kenma won’t like  
it either (¬ ¬ )

**Kyoudai ( Φ ω Φ ) [18:50]**

I’ll do my best m(_ _)m

Go! Drink, have fun! Be good

Make friends!

Or a /friend/ (^_~)

Snorting, Bokuto merely replies with a _goodnight Kuroo_ and puts his phone away. His drink is put in front of him not too long after that, and he groans as he lowers himself into a seat. Between running around from volleyball club to volleyball club and nearly having a nervous breakdown over a jammed printer at the office, Bokuto hasn’t seen a chair since he got back from his lunch break. Who knew a stool could be so comfortable? He quickly pays for his drink— _how much sorry? It’s really loud—ah yes, here you go, thank you!_ —and loses himself in the laughter coming from a full booth at the far end of the izakaya. The foam dissolves on his tongue as he takes a sip, but he doesn’t get to revel in it when there’s a tap on his shoulder. 

‘Hey there, handsome. May I ask which one you’re drinking for?’

Turning around, Bokuto is met with the face of a young woman, and a very drunk one, at that. _Damn, must be some kinda celebration if she’s already this far gone._ She sways on her feet, her little heels clacking every time she moves. Her dyed hair is dark, shimmering a pretty sunset red under the bar lights, and her ears gleam with a number of white studs. The black skirt of her sleeveless dress rests above her knees, decorated with shimmering tulle, and while all that is very nice to look at, Bokuto is pulled in by her dark eyes, fixed on him in a way he’s sure can be tagged as _hungry_.

‘Hello,’ Bokuto greets back, grinning gently. He shifts in his seat so he’s facing her properly. ‘What do you mean by that?’

Giggling, the woman gets close to him, one hand resting on his forearm and her eyes boring into his. Her grip is tight, painted nails digging uncomfortably into his skin.

‘I mean…’ she says in a low voice, ‘are ya drinking for a fuck, to forget, or for fun?’

A buzzing shroud falls over Bokuto at the same speed his smile vanishes from his face. The woman’s short breathing hits his chin, warm and stale, and he’s not sure what he finds more embarrassing: her blatant, expectant-ridden confidence or the fact that he doesn’t know what to say as a response.

It’s strange what time can do to a person. Bokuto hasn’t been with anyone since Megumi, let alone looked at someone else like that. That fateful night with vanilla ice-cream, Kuroo’s colourful words, and Kenma’s reassuring hands had propelled Bokuto into a two year hiatus from the dating game; and in all that time, he has carefully peeled back that stamp labelled _pathetic, 50, NIPPON_ from his forehead to the point where it’s just hanging on by a perforated corner.

As he stares at this woman, her words filtering through his ears and into the heart of his brain, he realises that the stamp has, somehow, somersaulted back onto his skin with newly-applied glue. Bokuto’s aware of her intentions, can read them in her heavy gaze and bottom lip tucked between her teeth, can feel it on his arm where her nails scratch the skin. Something starts to bubble into his throat, only to get stuck right on the roof of his mouth.

_Fuck, what do I say?_

‘Um—w-well, you see—’ he stutters out. His fingers tighten around his glass and a foot lands flat on the floor. Is he running? He doesn’t know. ‘It’s funny you should ask that because—I, um—’

Another hand—not the woman’s, he notes—sits on the small of his back, making him jolt upright and wince when cool drops of beer land on his fingers. 

‘Ah, you made it.’

The hand runs up onto his shoulder and squeezes it softly, almost friendly, and Bokuto glances up to see—oh. A man moves to stand next to him (effectively freeing Bokuto’s arm from the woman’s hold), his expression impassive and eyes sharp from behind a pair of rectangular frames. He’s young, most likely Bokuto’s age if he had to hazard a guess or something… with a head of dark, curled hair and a glass of clear liquid between the fingers of the hand not on Bokuto’s shoulder. What’s also interesting is that he’s dressed similarly to Bokuto, down to the rolled up sleeves—though far more neatly folded up his forearms than Bokuto’s are—and loosened tie.

Unsure of what else to say, Bokuto exclaims, ‘I made it!’

The man smiles at him—oh _fuck_ , that’s a nice smile—before he looks at the woman and lets out what seems to be a rather irritated sigh.

‘If you’ll please excuse us,’ he aims at her, tone soft and so polite, so different from the sound he’d just let out, and Bokuto can only stare.

_What the hell is happening?_

The woman pouts heavily, but admits defeat as she disappears with a flick of her wrist and a slurred mess of words which Bokuto can’t make out. He watches her go, unaware that the man has taken a seat next to him until his glass hits the bar counter with a dull _clank_. It takes Bokuto a moment to realise that the man must have seen him from somewhere else in the izakaya and thought…

Thought what, exactly? That Bokuto needed help?

( _I did need it…_ )

That he was uncomfortable by the woman’s straightforwardness?

( _I don’t really care about straightforward, but…_

( _That was nice of him… to do that for a stranger._ ) 

‘So…’ the man begins, both sets of fingers wrapping around his glass as Bokuto’s yanked out of his thoughts. ‘Would you like me to stay or would you prefer to be alone?’

The spell breaks and Bokuto considers the question, which is not something he usually does, if he’s honest. Most of the time he just says what’s on his mind without a care in the world—or at least, that’s what he used to do. He’s mature now. He’s got experience. He knows what people are after these days, and no matter how much Kuroo and Kenma tell him to just _be yourself_ , Bokuto’s been on the receiving end of too many glares and loud tuts at his unacceptable behaviour to just “be himself”.

But he’s not exactly keen for the woman to make a comeback, either (not that she could, given the way she’d been standing like on a tightrope, but better be safe than sorry, right?). So he sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly through his nose.

‘If you’re up for the company,’ is what he ends up saying, a bashful grin on his face, ‘I won’t complain about having someone to talk to.’

The man’s eyes soften, and Bokuto’s grin widens as he shifts in his seat to face him fully. He lifts his drink towards Bokuto, lips pulling back into that smile again when the edge of Bokuto’s glass clinks against his. 

‘Thanks, by the way,’ Bokuto tells him after they’ve each taken a sip. ‘For making her leave.’

‘You looked like you wanted to get away,’ the man says. He places his glass down again—now empty—and runs a fingertip around the rim. Then he stills and throws Bokuto a mildly alarmed look. ‘I hope I didn’t ward off a potential date.’

‘Oh! No, not at all!’ Bokuto waves his hands at him and adds, ‘Wasn’t interested at all! I mean, I guess _she_ was—but I wasn’t! So it’s all good!’

Blinking a few times, the man lets out a breathy laugh. ‘I’m glad then.’

Smiling, Bokuto catches the bartender that passes them by and asks, ‘Excuse me—hi, can my friend get another drink? It’s on me.’

The man shoots him a truly alarmed look this time, and Bokuto simply shrugs. _As a thank you_ , he tells him, and he puffs his chest out when the man hands over his empty glass to the bartender and orders shochu. Once it’s filled and the bartender takes the one-thousand yen note from Bokuto, the man meets his eyes.

‘Thank you…’ he says, trailing off the end with a lilt in his tone.

Catching on immediately at the silent question, Bokuto crows, ‘Bokuto! I’m Bokuto Koutarou. And you…?’

‘Akaashi,’ is the answer. ‘Akaashi Keiji.’

A pair of eyes that are a blue so dark they appear black beckon him from behind thick, black frames, though what towards, Bokuto has no idea. It’s enticing, gently taking him by the wrist and pulling him into a place where only time and maybe another four drinks might make sense of it.

_‘Don’t be so selfish.’_

Swallowing, Bokuto forces a smile that he hopes is convincing, and it seems to have worked for that’s all it takes for them to descend into a series of questions— _what do you do for work? Did you just come from there? Are you from Tokyo?_ —and Bokuto learns several things about Akaashi Keiji in the matter of twenty minutes. But somewhere amongst the conversation, Akaashi’s soft laughs and Bokuto’s wide grins, something loses its stickiness and falls, getting caught on the point of Bokuto’s chin by a stubborn, perforated corner.

* * *

The sounds of sirens and night traffic are what wake Bokuto up in the middle of the night. Stirring in his spot and onto his side, he inhales deeply and hums out a soft sound. The pillow underneath his head is soft—heaven, really—and he nuzzles his cheek further into the fabric.

It’s rare that he allows himself to indulge in the sheets and the comfort of his bed, given most of his mornings are filled with rushing to catch the train to the office. But when Bokuto reaches out for the bedside table, fingers meeting his phone and prying open one eye to a mere silver, he catches a bright _01:18_ sitting in the middle of his screen and feels a spike of joy deep in his stomach.

_Great! I can get some more sleep then,_ he thinks. _This never happens_.

But as his back lands comfortably against the mattress, one arm thrown over his eyes, disjointed images crawl into Bokuto’s mind. Just as the red interior of the izakaya bursts into being, paired with someone shifting next to him in real time, his body stiffens and his heart stops.

_Oh fuck_.

It all washes over him in a wave, crashing into his chest with the volume of a fucking boulder, because had he really spent the night talking to one Akaashi Keiji because Kuroo had a late meeting?

Yes. Yes, he had.

He’s aware that their conversation had taken several turns, going from topic to topic like it was nothing. Their glasses had been refilled again and again… and again, Bokuto going from drink to drink like they were simply water and fruity iced-tea, and Akaashi’s cheeks turning pinker from each sip of shochu that entered his system.

And of course, when Bokuto drinks too much… everything comes out. 

_My problem is that I trust too easily,_ he had said to that beautiful stranger, words mumbled through a glass that tasted strongly of sweet lemon. _People have taken advantage of that_.

It had honestly come out of nowhere—what even had they been talking about? _Oh right, ‘Kaashi said something about not really being a people person._ But Bokuto had been surprised when Akaashi had nodded sympathetically, almost as if he had _understood_ —not understood as in being empathetic, but understood as in like… he had gone through the same thing—but that’s impossible, right, because Akaashi is kind. Who would do that to him? Are they stupid? How could they breach Akaashi’s trust like that? What a cockhead.

He must have said all of that out loud for Akaashi had laughed gently and lifted his glass to his mouth.

_You’ll be surprised what people are capable of, Bokuto-san_ , was all the light he had shed on the matter, along with a murmured, _but that doesn’t mean I’ll let it stop me from having some fun._

Perhaps something had changed in the air after that, Bokuto’s not entirely sure, but he remembers shocks sparking through his body as they had left the izakaya, the night air cool on their flushed faces. The shocks had erupted even more when they had wordlessly started walking towards the train station, the space between them still being filled with conversation. It’s crazy, he thinks, how easily he can talk to Akaashi despite having _literally_ met him a few hours ago.

Yet when Akaashi had timidly asked _are you single, Bokuto-san?_ the shocks had transformed into a thousand wildfires. The implication had been clear— _extremely clear_ —and as Bokuto had nodded and asked the same, his heart leapt into his mouth the second Akaashi had nodded too.

The rest of it is a blur, but Bokuto recalls vividly the moment Akaashi had led him to the doorway of the corridor leading to his apartment, eyes alight with a million things Bokuto hadn’t seen in the past two years. _Trust me,_ they had said. And when they had kissed in the corner of the entryway, sweet lemon mixing with lingering shochu, Bokuto decided that this was not so much an instance of trust as it was granting himself permission to have some fun, just like Akaashi had said. Akaashi himself hadn’t seemed keen to let him go so easily, having tugged Bokuto’s bottom lip between his teeth as he fumbled with the keys. Their noses had knocked, Akaashi’s glasses had become askew on his face, and Bokuto had been searching—hair, waist, shoulders, neck—for something to grasp so as to tell him that what was happening between them was as tangible as it was dreamy.

They hadn’t spared a second thought about maybe slowing down when Akaashi had managed to unlock his front door, and had quickly fallen onto his bed after hastily removing their shoes in the genkan. But the moment Bokuto had been rolled onto his back, long fingers yanking his dress shirt out from his waistband and dipping under polyester in favour of hot skin, he knew he was a goner. It also didn’t help that Akaashi had claimed his lips in a searing kiss that was more teeth than skin, yet it was enough for him to slide his hands up Akaashi’s back and lose himself in the sensations coming at him from all corners of the room, the fingertips on his chest, the line of his jaw, his hips…

The memories dissipate into remnants of low groans and laboured breathing, and Bokuto sighs into the silence.

Well. That had been a first.

Kuroo’s going to have a field day.

(He’s not going to tell Kuroo. He’d never hear the end of it. No way.)

Opening his eyes and scanning the space in place of reliving everything that happened after Bokuto lost his shirt, he notices a few things he hadn’t when Akaashi’s mouth was leaving hot drags along his throat. The room they’re in is modestly sized and decorated minimally: a desk sits in the corner, a paper bomb covering its surface alongside uncapped pens (or at least that’s what it looks like from where he’s laying), and a chair covered with neatly stacked clothes lingers near the edge of a large window. Bokuto can see some manga posters lining otherwise plain walls, and seeing something as cute as those makes something stir in his stomach.

But then his gaze lands on Akaashi and it flips. Akaashi looks younger without his glasses—which sit haphazardly on the bedside table behind him—lips parted and brow dipped naturally downwards as he sleeps. Bokuto notes the way his eyelashes curl slightly at the ends, much like the hair that falls over onto the pillow like a tide on a full moon. The bedsheet pools at his waist, creases large and jagged against the sharp bone of his hip, a stark contrast to the soft, curved muscles that line his side and upper arm; and his hands linger at the underside of his chin, shadowed by the syrupy moonlight that spills onto his back and over his shoulder.

Bokuto has never wanted to reach out and touch anyone more than he does right now, to trace his fingertips over skin and remind himself of its smoothness, to commit to memory any perfect imperfections and secret zones that pour love from their cliffs. He’s been in love before, has thrown himself into relationships with beautiful people who possessed caring hands and adoring gazes, but Bokuto hasn’t ever wanted to touch them as badly as he wants to touch Akaashi.

(He blames this on being touch-starved after being single for two years. Given that they’ve met for the first time tonight in a bar, it’s the only explanation that makes sense.)

He’s well aware of how this all works: a single night between the sheets and wordless breaths of praise filling this modestly-sized room is an indication of a coincidental meeting with a timestamp ending at the fourth hour of the morning. Nothing this good is meant to last more than a few hours, acting more as a wrinkled photograph tucked away in an old jacket, one to be taken out a decade later and looked upon with patient reverence.

Yet he finds himself lifting his hand, the movement heavy with the knowledge of having lost in the battle of wills; Bokuto has never been one to win against temptation. It has led to many problems, as he had told Akaashi several hours ago, but when something beautiful waves at him from the corner of the room, tugging at the strings that hold him up to come hither, come closer… he cannot rip himself from the bonds that tie him.

Akaashi is warm. There’s the beginnings of morning stubble pricking at his fingertips as they glide along his jaw and settle behind his ear, and it’s a welcome sensation. Bokuto’s thumb gently strokes the prominent cheekbone, the skin here untouched by a razor (or an electric one… or cream… probably a razor of some kind, though, given the roughness that makes up the bottom half of Akaashi’s face). He can make out some old, small acne scars around the long plane of Akaashi’s nose, and can feel the groove of one under his thumb as it moves.

Bokuto freezes when Akaashi suddenly shifts, inhaling sharply as he nuzzles his other cheek further into the pillow. He lets out a silent breath of relief when Akaashi doesn’t wake, humming through his nose as his body resumes its steady rise and fall. It’s tempting to stay, to be able to witness the spoils of a weak dawn streaking across the room and over the figure lying next to him, because Bokuto is certain that Akaashi looks just as handsome in sunshine as he does under the golden glows of overhead bar lights and the moon’s gleaming, silvery rays.

However, he’s well aware of how this all works, so after lingering upon Akaashi’s cheek for just a touch longer, Bokuto quietly pries the sheet from his legs and slowly gets up from the bed. He winces at every rustle he makes, eyes fixated on any minute reaction Akaashi could possibly make and racks his brain for an excuse in case he wakes up and asks where Bokuto is going. Thankfully, he manages to escape without rousing Akaashi, and he doesn’t breathe until he’s closed the bathroom door behind him and his crumpled clothes are held to his chest like a shield.

The rest is simple: wash up, get dressed, make himself presentable for the public, go home, and get ready for work in the morning. As he cleans up, it’s the freshest he’s felt all day; as he slides his clothes back on, the fabrics feel familiar, the action routine. Everything feels as normal and he forgets for a moment where he is—but then Bokuto catches himself in the square mirror, both halves of his tie in his hands and collar lifted to his ears, and stops. The silk upon his palms turns into sandpaper as the tie slithers out of his grip, and the collar serves as a signpost for his gaze, white starchy shirt stark against a littering of purple and red splotches that sit upon his neck.

Everything about him screams fucked, and in more ways than one.

_What am I doing here? What are_ you _doing here?_ he asks his reflection, asks the hickies and the tugged-in-pleasure hairstyle, asks the swollen lips. Hands finding the edge of the sink—tie forgotten on the floor and fingers knocking a lone razor into the bowl—Bokuto stares into his own eyes, searching for an answer. He’s not stupid to believe that his reflection would actually talk to him, but there has to be something there, because there’s nothing in his brain right now to suggest that everything that had happened tonight was a good fucking idea.

Bokuto doesn’t do this. He hasn’t looked at anyone in _two years_. But apparently the moment some handsome young man comes in to save him from a drunk woman—whose intentions he had _tried_ to avoid for this very reason—Bokuto trips head first into his arms—no, his _bed_ —

Unable to look at himself, Bokuto’s forehead hits the glass as he groans low in his throat.

 _God_ , what has he done?

_‘Don’t be selfish.’_

_‘Keep your problems to yourself.’_

_‘No one loves you as much_ I _do, darling. And no one else will ever put up with your shit.’_

Bokuto pushes himself away from the mirror, sucking in a few deep breaths to ground himself. What ends up pulling him back to the present is a large, foggy mark where his forehead had been.

‘Shit,’ he mutters, glancing around the bathroom in search of something to clean it up, because it’s rude otherwise. The last thing Akaashi needs is a dirty mirror and Bokuto having a mental breakdown. ‘ _Shit._ ’

In the end, he grabs a nearby towel— _sorry, Akaashi_ —wipes the mark off and gazes into his reflection again. Two seconds pass before he puts the towel back, gently returns the razor back to the edge of the sink, fishes his tie from the floor and finishes getting dressed. He throws himself one last dirty look— _seriously_ , _what the fuck are you doing, man?_ —and leaves.

What Bokuto doesn’t expect upon closing the bathroom door is a flood of yellowed light and Akaashi slowly sitting up in his bed. He rubs his eyes, letting out a quiet breath through his nose.

‘Bokuto-san…’ 

‘H-Hey…’ Bokuto stutters out.

Akaashi yawns. Bokuto is trapped between being sheepish that he’s been caught and shamelessly zeroing in on Akaashi’s messy hair and pouty lips, squinty eyes and furrowed brows, never mind the way his voice, all gravelly and soft, had punched him in the stomach with the force of a bulldozer. 

‘Were you planning on leaving?’ Akaashi asks after a minute, lifting his arms over his head in a deep stretch.

‘Um, yeah…’ Bokuto replies. He shifts from foot to foot, eyes everywhere except on Akaashi’s bare torso, which, much like this, is covered in red-purple smatterings. ‘Work, y’know?’

‘Hmm…’

A beat passes between them before Akaashi motions for Bokuto to come closer. Curious, Bokuto crosses the floor to the edge of the bed, and shoots out an arm to stop himself from falling into it when Akaashi cups his cheek and pulls him into a soft kiss.

His mind erupts into a million questions. Akaashi’s lips are soft on his, the kiss casual, acted upon almost as if it is second-nature to him. What does this mean, then? Does Akaashi want him to stay? Is this not some kind of fling? It’s too early for a relationship, so it can’t be that— _unless it is?_

A few seconds later, Akaashi pulls away, eyebrows knitted together. His hand remains on Bokuto’s cheek. 

‘You seem confused,’ he says, tone inflected in a way that indicates his words as both a question and a statement.

Bokuto swallows. ‘Yeah…’

Humming pensively, Akaashi runs his thumb over Bokuto’s jawline, gaze going between the skin it touches and Bokuto’s eyes. 

‘I wasn’t planning on this being a one-time thing,’ he clarifies, and Bokuto must show something on his face—shock? More confusion?—for Akaashi lets his hand drop. ‘Unless… you were?’

Opening and shutting his mouth several times, Bokuto shakes his head incredulously.

‘Um…’ he begins, stupefied by Akaashi’s bold declaration. ‘To be honest, I—I didn’t really think about it.’

He finds himself swallowing again as Akaashi simply stares at him, and nearly jumps out of his skin when his fingers curl around Bokuto’s. There’s a large question mark resting idly in the centre of his nose, painted a glowing gold—it then transforms into a lightbulb, and Bokuto feels those fingers tighten their grip on his.

‘C’mere,’ is all Akaashi murmurs, and Bokuto finds himself being pulled back into the bed, clothes and all. He’s not sure why he’s going along with it, but the moment his nose meets the delicate skin of Akaashi’s neck, warm and soft, Bokuto’s dunked into a cloud made of feathers. Arms wrap around his shoulders and back, and a hot leg escapes from the tangle of blankets and drapes itself over his. Bokuto’s hair ruffles when Akaashi lets out a breath, tickling his scalp, and he gingerly places his arm in the dip of Akaashi’s waist and loses himself in the steady heartbeat pumping in his ear.

Strange as this all is, Bokuto thinks to himself that this… is quite nice. Akaashi’s hold on him is barely there, almost as if he’s afraid of going overboard more than he already has. As far as one-night stands go—so Bokuto’s heard—pillow talk is not usually something that happens, lest it’s along the lines of _that was great_ or _we should totally do that again sometime._

_Holy shit, is that what Akaashi wants?_ Bokuto screams at himself inwardly.

But then Akaashi clears his throat, whispers, ‘Is this me taking advantage?’ and Bokuto’s brain shuts up.

_He remembers that bit…?_

Out loud, he stutters, ‘I—I don’t… I don’t think so. Doesn’t feel like it.’

Although it sounds off to his own ears, Bokuto’s sure he’s telling the truth. Weird as this scenario is, there’s nothing to suggest that Akaashi and what they’ve done— _they’ve_ , not _he’s_ —was a breach of Bokuto’s trust; and Akaashi seems to arrive to the same conclusion for he twists around to grab something off the bedside table on his side. When he turns back around, Bokuto sees him holding his phone.

Akaashi’s voice is nothing above a whisper. ‘Will you leave me your number? I really don't want this to be the last time we see each other.’

Is this man trying to kill him? Bokuto’s sure he’s never met anyone so blunt, not even Kenma, and he has his blunt days. 

‘Huh…’ he breathes out. ‘You don’t fuck around, d’you?’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘As in like, you’re not hesitating or whatever.’ Bokuto lifts his head to look Akaashi in the eyes. ‘You’re goin’ right in.’

‘Ah…’ Nodding in acknowledgement, Akaashi purses his lips. Bokuto nearly shudders when Akaashi’s pesky fingers—really, extremely _pesky_ —run through his hair as he explains, ‘Well, I don’t like to flounder about. If I have a strong feeling about something, I tend to just do it or say whatever it is I’m thinking about.’

‘And if you don’t?’ Bokuto asks.

‘Then I’m having an existential crisis or I’m overthinking things,’ Akaashi says immediately.

A loud laugh is ripped from Bokuto’s throat, and before he can stop himself, he states, ‘You’re weird.’

‘I’ve been told.’ Fixing Bokuto with a stern look, he adds, ‘I hope that’s not a bad thing.’

‘Nah…’ Bokuto mumbles. He takes Akaashi’s phone and shifts onto his side so he can type with both hands. ‘Not bad at all.’

Akaashi says nothing, but his nails scratch lightly at Bokuto’s scalp as Bokuto types in his number and returns the phone. The time flies past his line of sight when Akaashi grabs the phone, and Bokuto slowly removes himself from Akaashi’s hold, who merely blinks bemusedly up at him. 

‘I really gotta go, ‘Kaashi,’ Bokuto tells him. ‘It’s late.’

Frowning, Akaashi quickly checks the time. His face relaxes once he reads it and, nodding absently, his eyes flicker back to Bokuto. Bokuto’s alarmed to note that there’s a tension between them—thick, unrelenting—and he realises after a moment why: Akaashi’s gaze is fixed upon his lips, and from the corner of his eye, his long fingers fiddle with the edge of a pillowcase.

He’s not sure what compels him to do it, but Bokuto bends down and kisses Akaashi square on the mouth. What’s even more astonishing is the way Akaashi instantly returns it, hands finding Bokuto’s jaw and fingertips pressing at the base of his skull. When they pull away, there’s something crossing through Akaashi’s eyes, covering them like a veil. 

‘I’ll text you,’ he whispers at their lips, and presses them together chastely before letting go of Bokuto completely.

With that, Bokuto nods and wishes Akaashi a goodnight. His reply is a gentle grin and a soft wave, along with an apologetic _I’d walk you to the door, but…_ and sweeps an arm over his body. Laughing, Bokuto assures him it’s fine and makes his way out.

Once he’s on the street, cool air hitting the hot skin of his face and neck, Bokuto wonders why Akaashi’s touch upon his cheeks has set off a deep fire in his chest.

* * *

**Private Number [02:14]**

Hello Bokuto-san

I just wanted to make sure you  
got home okay

Hope you have a pleasant day  
at work tomorrow

Akaashi

**Bokuto Koutarou [02:23]**

hey thanks

just walked in!

night Akaashi

hope you have a good one  
too ( ´ ▽ ` ) ****

**Akaashi [02:24]**

Thank you

Goodnight, Bokuto-san

* * *

Bokuto doesn’t expect to hear from Akaashi so soon after their night together. When he wakes up at seven-thirty the next morning, he’s not discouraged by the lack of notification on his lock screen. In fact, despite the five hour sleep and long night out, Bokuto’s feeling better than he has in a long time. 

He’d had a dreamless sleep, the voices in his head having kept quiet during the night. Bokuto’s humming some random tune he’d heard on the radio the other day to himself as he gets ready for work, body alive with newfound energy he hasn’t felt in months. The voices are trying to make noise, but they’re muffled, banging on the door that’s locked, bolted, chained three times over, and Bokuto’s whistling merrily on his way to the train station.

His colleagues greet him cheerily when he steps into the office around nine o’clock (on the dot, for once!), and he finds Kuroo at his desk, shooting him apologetic grimaces with a landline phone held between his ear and shoulder. _I’ll come talk to you later!_ he mouths at Bokuto before chirping _hello, yes, I’m Kuroo Tetsurou—I called you early last week to discuss…_ Given it’s a Friday, there’s not much to be done other than finalising paperwork and waiting on sponsors to send in their halves of agreements pertaining to new players entering the field of professional volleyball, so Bokuto spends the whole morning in the office chasing loose ends. 

Kuroo comes to visit his desk, as promised, an hour later, spitting rapid-fire apologies for bailing on him last night. Bokuto waves him off, and ignores his _hey, why are you smiling so much?_ He’s not going to let anything ruin his good mood. 

But as the clock strikes noon and he’s about to head out for his lunch break, there are three notifications lining his lock screen: one from Konoha, one from Hinata, and one from—

Bokuto nearly drops his phone as he hurriedly types in his passcode and reads the latest message. 

**Akaashi [11:48]**

Good morning

I realise this is out of the blue,  
but I was wondering if I could  
speak with you?

In person

Are you available to meet around  
lunchtime? Depending on where  
you work, of course

My office is near Shinjuku Station

_In person?_ Bokuto thinks to himself. A chill washes over him at the idea of Akaashi having bad news for him, and his good feeling immediately hits the pavement. Before he can let his imagination run away from him, he quickly types out a response.

**Bokuto Koutarou [12:01]**

morning!

or afternoon, rather

is everything alright!?

Not even a minute passes by before Bokuto notices a small speech bubble appear at the bottom of his screen. He watches the ellipsis within it flicker in and out of existence for a few seconds before Akaashi’s latest messages start to pour in.

**Akaashi [12:01]**

Oh. My apologies, Bokuto-san,  
I didn’t realise how dire my  
messages sound

Everything is alright, I promise

I just wanted to see you to talk ****

**Bokuto Koutarou [12:02]**

don’t scare me like that, Kaashi!

but funnily enough my office is near  
Shinjuku Station too! we can meet up  
there, if you like?

**Akaashi [12:02]**

That would be preferable

I’ll see you there

And that is how Bokuto finds himself waiting outside a small café twenty minutes later, eyes scanning the surrounding streets for Akaashi. What could he possibly want to talk about? Did Bokuto leave something behind? No, maybe it was something that happened during their tryst? Oh god, he didn’t hurt him without knowing, did he? No, he would’ve said something by now, right?

Groaning under his breath, Bokuto kicks at the pavement.

_Please, shut up, you stupid brain! I’m sure everything is okay… just chill._

‘Bokuto-san!’

Swivelling around, Bokuto sees Akaashi walking towards him, a hand in the air and a briefcase in another. A long, thin coat flaps around his legs—and how can he even wear a coat in this warm spring weather, Bokuto doesn’t understand one single bit—as he gets closer, Bokuto notices him squinting through his glasses, no doubt from the glare of the afternoon sun.

Waving back at him, Bokuto smiles hugely—and it widens once Akaashi’s standing right in front of him, cheeks slightly pink and both hands holding the handle of his briefcase.

‘Hello. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,’ Akaashi says.

‘Not at all! I just got here,’ Bokuto tells him. He points to the café behind him. ‘Shall we head in?’

At Akaashi’s nod, they head into the little café and are directed to a table by the large windows overlooking the main street. They’re handed a pair of menus by a lively, smiley waitress and dealt a promise that she’ll return shortly. As they look over the items, they throw each other curious looks, Bokuto mostly anxious about what Akaashi wants to discuss with him.

Having decided what he wants, Bokuto slides his closed menu to the side and studies Akaashi. He’s still reading, his hair and the side of his face highlighted from the side by the sunlight pouring into the café, showing off a sharp jawline and glassy, clear sea-floor coloured eyes.

He was right. Akaashi _is_ just as handsome in the sunshine.

Bokuto clears his throat and quickly looks away. Akaashi makes an intrigued sound and Bokuto can’t stand it anymore.

_He’s too handsome! And this is meant to be serious! I gotta do something, I’m going insane._

‘So what did you wanna talk about?’ he prompts, picking at his nails under the surface of the table.

_Subtle, dude._

Akaashi blinks at him as he sets the menu down. 

‘Well,’ he starts, tone suddenly shy. ‘I was reflecting this morning while I was getting ready for work. About us and our night together. The truth is, uh… I acted on impulse last night. I, um…’ He waves a vague hand. ‘I don’t usually do that. Or be so forward. I hope you can forgive me.’

Bokuto breathes out a laugh.

_That’s it? He sure is an over-thinker like he said, huh?_

‘I think we both did, Akaashi,’ is what he says wisely out loud, and he grins at Akaashi’s shoulders dropping in relief. ‘I don’t regret any of it, though. I had fun.’

Akaashi aims the smallest smile at him, but it’s enough to send a warm feeling blooming across his chest.

‘I had fun too.’ It comes out as a monotone set of syllables, but they’re softened by the delicate crinkles that border his eyes. ‘And I meant what I said. I really didn’t want it to be the last I saw of you.’

The words hold a weight that Bokuto is sure is the same as a blue whale— _blue whales are the biggest, right? Maybe Akaashi would know, he seems smart_. But the impact is not quite as devastating as a marine mammal being dropped between them, simply due to the fact that Akaashi lets out a groan and pinches the bridge of his nose.

‘I’ve done it again. I’m sorry—’

‘Akaashi, it’s fine!’ Bokuto assures him. ‘Seriously. There’s no need to stress.’

Akaashi merely stares at the table, clearly embarrassed. Bokuto’s about to reach over to tap him on his hands when the waitress comes over to take their orders. That puts a quick spell over their conversation, almost as if it had never happened—and Bokuto flinches when Akaashi asks for a black coffee without milk or sugar and a plain croissant. He orders himself a sandwich and a juice, and hands over both menus to the waitress before she walks away with a smile.

‘I’ll never understand people who drink straight coffee,’ he grumbles after she leaves, and pulls a face as he imagines the taste of it on his tongue. ‘It’s so bitter!’

That seems to pull Akaashi out of his own head as he raises an eyebrow at Bokuto.

‘I quite like it.’ Running a hand through his hair, he adds wearily, ‘It certainly keeps me awake whenever I’ve had a long night.’

‘Yeah, that makes sense—but do you actually _like_ it or are you just forcin’ yourself?’ Bokuto rebuts.

‘Yes, Bokuto-san, I like it,’ Akaashi informs him and Bokuto’s jaw drops to the floor. ‘In fact, I’d go so far as to say I prefer it over anything remotely sugary.’

Bokuto cannot believe his ears. He’s about to grill Akaashi on the fact that no human can _possibly_ not like sugary goodness when the waitress returns with their drinks, informing them that their food is on the way. When she leaves, a weighted blanket embroidered with _awkward_ drapes over them: Akaashi plays with his fingers and Bokuto stares at the serviette dispenser at the edge of the table.

After about a minute of silence, Bokuto glances up at Akaashi and sighs through his nose.

_This is ridiculous. You had a great night together… you can talk to him, for fuck’s sake._

‘So,’ he chooses to begin, drumming his fingers on the wooden surface. ‘You said your office is ‘round here? What do you do for work?’

Relief floods Akaashi’s face, a barely-there smile gracing his lips.

‘I’m an editor,’ he answers. ‘I was meant to go into the literature department, but they were in dire need of editors for the manga department, so that’s where I am at the moment.’

‘Whoa, an editor? For manga? That’s so cool!’ Bokuto crows. ‘Anything I might know?’

‘Unless you’re into zombies, no.’ Taking a sip of his coffee, Akaashi slumps into his seat and it’s only then that Bokuto takes in the dark bags hanging under his eyes. ‘My mangaka is having a field day on how to finish the series, and we’ve been brainstorming all morning.’

‘Any luck?’

‘Unfortunately, we’ve hit a dead end,’ Akaashi says in an exhale. ‘Pun not intended.’

Bokuto laughs and Akaashi grins at him over his cup of coffee. Apparently that’s all it takes for them to fall back into conversation, as easy as it had been last night, only with juice and coffee instead of alcohol. They talk about _Zombie Knight Zom’bish_ —Akaashi’s current mangaka’s series—and editing and Akaashi’s high school desire to be in the literature department. They talk about Bokuto’s job, about scouting potential volleyball stars and organising sponsors for big volleyball tournaments. Bokuto is delighted to discover Akaashi’s interest in the sport, and the conversation doesn’t stop even as their food arrives.

They talk, and talk, and talk, and eat, and talk, and drink—Bokuto’s aware of time ticking by, but the reality of going back to work soon doesn’t cross his mind at all. Instead, as he takes a bite out of his sandwich, Bokuto regards the current half-smile on Akaashi’s face and thinks that it looks… restrained. Or forced. One of the two. Either way, there’s no doubt Akaashi’s thinking about something outside of their current topic of conversation, and he has a pretty good idea of what it might be. 

‘Listen, ‘Kaashi,’ he says around his mouthful, deciding then and there _that’s enough_. ‘I can tell you’re still thinkin’ about being “impulsive”.’ He draws the marks in the air with his fingers. ‘And I’m tellin’ you, it’s chill. If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be sitting here having a good time together, would we?’

The way Akaashi genuinely looks surprised sets something alight in Bokuto’s stomach. He doesn’t get to assess it when Akaashi sets down his cup and runs a hand through his hair.

(The image of it being messier and sticking out between Bokuto’s fingers blooms in his mind’s eye before he can stop himself.)

‘I’m sorry, Bokuto-san,’ Akaashi says softly. ‘I just don’t know the appropriate course of action here. Like I said, I don’t do this often. And don’t get me wrong, I enjoy your company and wish to see more of you, but I don’t wish to overstep any boundaries. Is that strange of me?’

‘No,’ Bokuto answers instantly. ‘It’s not strange at all.’

Akaashi hums thoughtfully. ‘I just don’t know what to say.’

Bokuto blinks at him and puts down his sandwich. 

‘Good thing I do, then!’ he says, and then clears his throat. ‘Hi, I’m Bokuto Koutarou,’ he begins, smile large on his face and hand outstretched towards Akaashi. ‘I’d like to be your friend.’

Akaashi simply stares at Bokuto’s fingers, and Bokuto feels like he can physically see the cogs turning in his head. Then he gently slots his hand into Bokuto’s palm and grips it soundly.

‘Hello, Bokuto-san. I’m Akaashi Keiji.’ Something close to fondness flutters behind his glasses. ‘I’d also like to be your friend.’

Bokuto grins and returns to his sandwich, heart smiling when it registers the new, golden sheen falling over Akaashi’s eyes. 

* * *

On a Sunday night about a fortnight later, sitting on the edge of his bed with his phone in his hands, Bokuto wonders if he and Kuroo had texted this much when they had first met back in their first year of high school.

Ever since that spontaneous lunch break, Bokuto and Akaashi have not stopped talking to each other, be it through phone calls that can last up to two hours or spamming each other with a flood of messages. Just during this past working week, they had seen each other twice for lunch, though Bokuto admittedly had done most of the talking given the bags under Akaashi’s eyes had bags of their own.

( _‘Sorry, Akaashi, I’ll stop talking so much! It must be annoying.’_

( _‘Not at all, Bokuto-san. If anything, your voice is keeping me awake, so please. Do continue. What was it you were saying about that young boy who came down from Nagano?_ ’

(Bokuto was sure to tell him to get plenty of rest that night and not to stay up editing Udai-san’s latest chapter until the morning and after a good cup of coffee. Whether Akaashi had listened or not, Bokuto’s not certain.)

Tempted to text Kuroo and ask whether this applied to them, Bokuto’s stopped in his tracks when he receives a new message from Akaashi. Upon reading it, he lets out a laugh and a smile splits his cheeks.

**Akaashi [23:46]**

I can’t say I’ve ever seen a horned  
owl do that, no

May I ask why you wish to know this?

Bokuto had asked if he had ever seen a horned owl play around with a volleyball, and seeing this answer, he realises he had forgotten to give the poor man some context.

**Bokuto Koutarou [23:47]**

ahhh sorry Akaashi, i forgot to  
tell ya!

there was a request at work today  
about possible advertising ideas

something about a new sponsorship  
company

**Bokuto Koutarou [23:48]**

and since my old school’s mascot was  
an owl, i thought it’d be a good idea  
to have as like an inside joke i guess

and we need references but i can’t  
find any online (boo) so i thought i’d  
try my luck with you!!

**Akaashi [23:49]**

I’m not sure what I expected your  
answer to be, but it wasn’t that

An advertisement idea? I thought your  
department was responsible for scouting

**Bokuto Koutarou [23:49]**

oh yeah, it is

they just wanted opinions from  
everyone i guess!

**Bokuto Koutarou [23:50]**

anyway

it’s getting late Akaashi

you should try and get some rest

i know you’ve been staying up late  
editing Udai-san’s work!! ****

**Akaashi [23:51]**

I haven’t the slightest idea what you  
mean, Bokuto-san

But you are right

I’ll talk to you tomorrow?

**Bokuto Koutarou [23:52]**

of course!!

goodnight Akaashi!! (－ω－) zzZ

**Akaashi [23:52]**

Goodnight Bokuto-san

Checking if he’s set his alarm for the morning and then locking his phone, Bokuto puts it on his bedside table and glances out his bedroom window. The sky is void of any clouds, just stars, and the smell of summer is faint in the distance, approaching comfortably with the knowledge that Bokuto will be entering the new season with a clearer head and one friend more.

_Yeah,_ he thinks as his head hits the pillow. _Change this time is good. This is good._

* * *

‘Honestly, Koutarou, you’re nothing without me.’

‘Can’t you do anything right? Fuck!’

‘You’ll be lucky if you find anyone else! I don’t know who’d be able to put with your shit, I swear.

‘You? In volleyball? Dream on, Kou.’

‘Keep your problems to yourself.’

_I’m trying._

_But two years isn’t enough for you, is it?_

* * *

Out of all his high school friends, Bokuto has to say that Kenma is the least likely to be seen out in public—and such fact remains true as the apartment door to Kenma’s and Kuroo’s apartment creaks open, showing a silver of Kenma’s hoodie-covered head and narrowed eyes. Bokuto stands in the doorway, a bag of takeaway clutched in his hand and a grin loose on his lips.

‘Hey, Ken!’ he greets, grin growing larger when Kenma opens the door fully with something close to delight sparkling on his face.

Kenma murmurs out a soft _hello_ of his own, groaning under his breath as he lets the door close shut and Bokuto toes off his shoes. When Bokuto raises an eyebrow at him, he tells him, ‘I forgot to tell you that Kuro’s stuck at work again and that he’s eating at the office.’

‘Oh yeah, I know.’ Heading straight to the kitchen, Bokuto says over his shoulder, ‘He came to my desk just before I started packing up to tell me that.’

Chuckling at the dissatisfied grumble that Kenma produces, Bokuto sets the sheer bag on the nearest counter and goes straight towards the lower cupboards. Over the years, Kenma’s and Kuroo’s kitchen has become a familiar place, a third home away from Bokuto’s shoebox apartment in the centre of Tokyo (the second one being the living room, filled with nights of shared ice-cream tubs and laughable game shows blaring from the television at one in the morning). Bokuto moves mindlessly around, grabbing bowls and chopsticks and bumping Kenma’s hip with his own when he sidles up next to him.

It’s nice, Bokuto supposes, that Wednesday night dinners at Kenma’s and Kuroo’s has become a habit. Even with Kuroo absent, both he and Kenma move like clockwork, setting up the table in the living room and allowing the fragrant aromas of fresh takoyaki and stir-fried vegetables waft around the walls. Before they know it, they’re sitting at the table with food in front of them, palms pressed together and _itadakimasu_ hanging in the air between them.

As they begin eating, Bokuto takes in Kenma’s furrowed brow and his chopsticks pushing his food around instead of picking it up. He thinks that out of all of his high school friends, Kenma only shows his discontentment to a few select people and only allows it to show on his face if something is really bothering him—and since he’s acting like this, it must be something bad.

So as he chews around some carrot, Bokuto asks, ‘Hey, what’s eatin’ ya?’

Kenma plays around with some rice before he sets down his chopsticks and sighs through his nose.

‘I’m being stupid,’ he mumbles. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing.’

Bokuto shoots him a look.

‘It sure isn’t nothing if you’re frowning like that, Kenma,’ he retorts, and a scowl sits in the centre of Kenma’s face. ‘Seriously, what is it?’

Kenma’s cheek finds the meat of his palm as he rests an elbow on the edge of the table, lips falling out into an almost childish looking pout (and if he wasn’t so grumpy, Bokuto wouldn’t hesitate to reach over and pinch his cheeks despite knowing he’d cop a smack to the back of his hand).

After a minute, Kenma locks eyes with Bokuto and says, ‘Kuro’s overworking himself, and I don’t like it. This is becoming ridiculous.’

With a large piece of meat hovering in the space between his bowl and his mouth, Bokuto gapes at his friend.

‘What makes you say that?’ At the withered expression overtaking Kenma’s face, he adds, ‘No, seriously. I know Kuroo’s a workaholic, but he’s been finishing up on time lately. Has even finished at the same time as me and we’ve walked to the station together nearly every single night.’

‘Is that so?’ Kenma narrows his eyes. ‘So why has he been getting home past one every night for the past three weeks?’

‘What!’ Bokuto splutters. ‘ _One?_ That’s impossible.’

‘Sadly, it’s not.’ Sighing deeply, Kenma runs a hand through his hair. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he gave you the impression that he was finishing on time by waiting at the station with you, and then as soon as you board your train, he goes straight back to the office.’

‘But that doesn’t make sense!’ Bokuto exclaims. ‘‘S’far as I know, there’s not that much to do at work at the moment.’

This doesn’t seem to appease Kenma at all as concern paints his features.

‘So he hasn’t told you anything.’ It comes out as a weighted statement, and Bokuto feels it occupy the pit of his stomach.

It doesn’t really need to be said, but Bokuto places his chopsticks on top of his bowl and whispers, ‘No. He hasn’t.’

Kenma hums in acknowledgement, no doubt having already known Bokuto’s answer.

But what he doesn’t tell Kenma is the almost impeccable timing of it all. How is it that in meeting Akaashi three weeks ago, Kuroo started overworking himself? That in the three week’s he’s been talking to Akaashi, getting to know him outside of a charged night together, Kuroo’s been holing himself in the office?

How could he be so blind?

_No, wait, back up. There has to be something else._

An idea pops into his head and, clearing his throat, Bokuto asks tentatively, ‘Did you guys have a fight?’

‘No,’ is the instant answer. Kenma shakes his head, though there is a faraway look in his eyes. ‘No, we haven’t, which makes his behaviour even weirder, I suppose.’

‘Yeah…’ Bokuto agrees. ‘It sure is weird.’

Silence falls, heavy and confusing. This really isn’t like Kuroo at all—well, maybe the workaholic part is, but not telling either him or Kenma (his boyfriend!) what’s going on?

(A large part of him whispers from the corner of his mind _this is what happens when you rearrange your priorities._ )

‘Something’s up,’ Kenma murmurs, shattering the quiet. His neck cranes up to the ceiling and his eyes flutter shut. ‘I know it. I just wish I knew what it was.’

Bokuto doesn’t know what to say, just reaches around the table and grips Kenma’s knee in wordless reassurance.

What he does know is that he and Kuroo need to have a _long_ chat.

* * *

Summer arrives in a mix of shrieking cicadas and elongated sunsets, the time of year Bokuto looks forward to the most. But as the first week of the season comes to a close with a three-day heatwave (exactly one week after dinner with Kenma), it’s times such as these when Bokuto wishes the air conditioning in Kuroo’s car worked.

A hand-me-down from his father and his first _ever_ car, Kuroo’s silver 2003 Toyota Corolla comes to a stop near an outdoor volleyball court with the early afternoon sun beating down on its hood. Bokuto is thankful that his side has ended up blissfully under the shade of the huge trees lining the kerbside, even if it only alleviates the sweat beading on his forehead just the tiniest bit.

Kuroo’s not faring much better, his fringe damp and stuck to his forehead as he switches off the engine. The open windows served as the only natural airflow the entire trip from the office, and Bokuto’s gotten used to this particular charm (and will no doubt continue to experience it no matter how many times Kuroo _promises_ to fix the air-conditioning). But when the air is dead and muggy and harbours no cooling breeze, he starts to wonder just how much more of this he can take.

Blowing out a short breath, he slowly turns his head to face Kuroo, _fix the damn air-con tomorrow—for real this time, okay?_ ready on his tongue. It doesn’t see the light of day when Kuroo leans back in his seat and shoots his friend a large grin.

‘Hey, thanks for coming with me, Bo,’ he says, wiping the skin under his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘I really appreciate it.’

Bokuto laughs under his breath— _bastard, how can I insult him now?_ —and crows, ‘Of course, bro. What are friends for?’

Kuroo lifts a closed fist in lieu of a worded reply, and Bokuto immediately bumps it with his own.

‘I know I say this all the time,’ Bokuto says after he’s lowered his hand into his lap, ‘but thanks for getting me into this position. So much better than a regular desk job!’

‘Hey, no worries.’ Resting the back of his head against his seat, Kuroo shoots him a lopsided grin. ‘I know you still wanted to stick around volleyball, so I thought this’d be a great fit.’

_He’s got that right,_ Bokuto agrees inwardly. But the rest of his thoughts fizzle out when Kuroo’s grin falters and a look that Bokuto likes to call _I’m-thinking-something-and-you’re-not-going-to-like-it_ overtakes his features.

‘D’you think you’d ever play again though?’ Kuroo asks softly, and Bokuto’s jaw hits the floor in shock.

‘Play again?’ he squeaks. Blowing out a loud breath, Bokuto shakes his head gently. ‘Kuroo… it’s been six years. I think I’m a bit outta practice, dontcha think?’

A scoff fills the car and Kuroo chooses to sit up in his seat, turning towards Bokuto fully. _Uh oh,_ he thinks, _he’s getting even more serious. Fuck._

Kuroo points a thin finger at him, as if all the knowledge in the world is being aimed at him right this very second. ‘You’re not out of practice, Bo. You play with us whenever you get a chance and I _know_ about the kid’s teams you’re coaching on the weekends.’

Bokuto’s mind screeches to a halt. He’s never told anyone about the children’s teams he helps coach on Saturday’s (and sometimes Sundays), so—

‘How—?’ he starts.

‘A magician never tells,’ Kuroo interrupts him with a laugh. Then he slaps a hand on top of Bokuto’s knee, patting it a few times before adding, ‘But anyway. Think about it. If you ever change your mind, you know where I am.’

_I’m not gonna change my mind_.

But Bokuto simply grins and tells him, ‘Yeah… thanks Kuroo.’

Kuroo returns the smile and looks out of the windshield towards the courts and then down at his watch. Bokuto vaguely takes note of _hmm, she’s not here yet_ coming out of his mouth, because all that enters his brain is how this is the perfect opportunity to ask Kuroo what the hell was up with him and Kenma. After he had missed yet another Wednesday dinner yesterday, Kenma hadn’t eaten anything at all, choosing instead to watch the movie Bokuto had put on to distract them both from Kuroo’s glaring absence. 

(Neither of them were able to watch it.)

So Bokuto sucks in a breath, the vow he’d made to himself on the train to work this morning pressing against his skull.

_Time to jump, Koutarou._

‘Say, Kuroo—’

Just as Kuroo faces him and he opens his mouth to chuck the lid off the subject jar, Bokuto’s phone starts vibrating in his pocket.

‘Oh, sorry, one sec—’ Seeing who the caller ID belongs to once he fishes his phone out of his pocket, Bokuto instantly answers, unaware of the huge smile stretching his lips. ‘Hey!’

‘ _Hello, Bokuto-san,_ ’ Akaashi’s voice says through the receiver. _‘How are you?_ ’

‘Great! And you?’

‘ _Good, thank you. Is this a good moment to talk?’_

Bokuto glances at Kuroo apologetically. ‘Uh, I’m kinda in the middle of a work thing,’ he tells Akaashi, only to panic as he adds, ‘is everything okay?’

‘ _Ah, my apologies, I thought you were on your lunch break. I can call later._ ’ There’s a soft sigh on the other end. _‘But everything is fine, just wanted to catch up with you and see if you were free this weekend._ ’

Relief floods Bokuto’s body.

‘Hey, no sweat! But yeah, I should be! I’ll call you later to confirm though.’

_‘Alright, I look forward to your call, Bokuto-san._ ’ Bokuto is certain Akaashi is smiling as he says that. He can see it vividly in his mind’s eye, after all. Therefore it must be true. ‘ _Good luck at work and I’ll talk to you later_.’

‘Thanks! You too, ‘Kaashi!’ After a quick bout of _bye, bye, bye,_ Bokuto hangs up and turns back to his friend, ready to start the grilling, only to find Kuroo’s eyes narrowed at him in suspicion. ‘What?’

‘Who was that?’ Kuroo rests a wrist on the top of the steering wheel as he leans forward. ‘Can’t say I’ve heard of you talking about a “‘Kaashi” before.’

_Oh shit. Oh shit, fuck, fucking shit, hell to the cow on the moon—_

‘No one. He’s no one,’ is what Bokuto says quickly aloud, because Kuroo isn’t supposed to know what he and Akaashi had done. But he balks when Kuroo raises a singular eyebrow and relents. ‘Okay fine, he’s a friend.’

‘ _And?_ ’ Kuroo prompts, expression one of dissatisfaction ( _bloody fantastic, so much for keeping your own mouth shut, idiot!_ ) ‘Who is he? How’d you meet? When’d you meet? Why don’t I know about him, bro?’

Bokuto could lie. It’s definitely an option, and would spare himself a persistent round of meddling.

Shifting in his seat, however, he knows he cannot escape this whatsoever. So he murmurs, ‘Um… after work… about a month ago… at the izakaya near our building. Y’know the one.’

Intrigue settles deeply into the centre of Kuroo’s face, and his tone mirrors it as such as he sings, ‘ _Oya?_ ’

‘Yeah.’ _Oh fuck._ ‘We had a good chat and a few drinks together and stuff. It was a good night.’

‘Uh huh.’ Kuroo studies him for a moment or two before his eyes widen, realisation slowly fluttering across his features. ‘Wait a second, wasn’t that the day you—’ He gasps loudly and Bokuto feels his stomach drop somewhere on the carpet of the car. ‘You didn’t!’

‘The day I what?’ Bokuto asks weakly. ‘I didn’t what?’

‘The day you were grinning like an idiot at work!’ Kuroo looks absolutely feral as he leans even further forward into Bokuto’s space. ‘Did you guys sleep together?’

‘Kuroo! I wasn’t grinning like an idiot! You’re an idiot!’ Bokuto yells, affronted and very much aware of how hot his skin is getting and how it’s _not_ a result of the summer heat. He holds Kuroo’s excited, unwavering gaze for a total of three seconds before he looks away and admits in what he hopes is nothing above a whisper, ‘And what if we did?’

At first, there’s silence. Then Bokuto covers his ears as Kuroo lets out a scream that shakes the windows of the car.

‘Bokuto, oh my god!’ Beside himself, Kuroo dances in his seat and, in all honesty, Bokuto can’t really blame him for his excitement. He has, after all, never done anything remotely like this before. ‘You—oh, this is _fantastic!_ Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Because!’

‘Not a real reason, buddy!’ Kuroo cries.

‘Because I knew you’d react like this!’ Bokuto snaps and gestures to Kuroo overall. He runs a hand down the length of his face and breathes out slowly. ‘Just calm down, bro. We’re just friends.’

Kuroo scowls.

‘Oh really?’ he asks sarcastically.

‘Yes!’ Groaning, Bokuto continues with, ‘Sure, okay, we had a good night and stuff, but we agreed that we’re not looking for anything more right now. We’re _friends_.’

‘Okay, geez!’ Kuroo throws his palms out in a surrender. _Thank god,_ Bokuto thinks, and he’s about to slump back in his seat when he catches the forlorn look encompassing his friend’s face. His voice is the same as he states, ‘But really, it’s been two years since your last relationship, Bo. Why don’t you… give it another go?’

A knife goes through Bokuto’s chest.

‘What, and get thrown into the kerb again?’ he argues. ‘Have my heart broken again? Yeah, I think I’ll pass on that one, thanks.’

‘I promise I’ll tell you to your face this time if I don’t like him.’

Whatever point Bokuto was going to throw at Kuroo dissolves on his tongue. There’s nothing but genuine honesty shining in his friend’s eyes, and Bokuto knows that even with all the grilling and pushing, Kuroo has his back. He always has.

He sends him a small smile. ‘Thanks… but no need, because it’s not gonna go anywhere else. He’s a good guy, though. I like him.’

‘Like like?’ Kuroo immediately pokes, like a young teenager quizzing their friend on their crush in the other class.

‘Kuroo, shut the fuck up.’

‘Hey!’ Laughing, he waggles his eyebrows at Bokuto knowingly. ‘Was the sex bomb?’

Biting back a groan—and not that he can deny it, anyway—Bokuto whispers, ‘It was really bomb.’

A wide grin graces Kuroo’s lips. ‘Isn’t that a sign then?’

‘Kuroo—’

‘Okay, I’ll be quiet.’ He bumps his shoulder with Bokuto’s. ‘I’m happy for you.’

‘Yeah… me too.’ Desperate to get the attention away from himself and Akaashi, Bokuto tries to bring up the issue with Kuroo’s work ethic again with, ‘But anyway, enough about me. How have you and Kenma been? He hasn’t been much around the office lately.’

‘Ah, well, he’s high profile now, isn’t he?’ Kuroo says knowingly, albeit with a grin. ‘But we’re good. Really good, actually.’

Bokuto gapes at him, not having expected that answer.

_Shit, this is bad. This is_ bad.

‘Oh?’ he offers as a response.

‘Yeah…’

Something close to coyness paints Kuroo’s face as he bites his bottom lip and scratches his cheek, and if Bokuto didn’t know any better, he’d say that Kuroo was putting an act on. But as it so happens, he does know better, and he cocks his head to the side in confusion and as a silent means to continue.

After a moment, Kuroo puffs his cheeks out and says in a tone lilted in question, ‘I’m, um… maybe thinking of proposing?’

Everything stops. Bokuto stares at Kuroo, stares at the sweat dripping down his nose— _fuck, air-con, we need air-con, stupid old car_ —and stares and stares—

‘Kuroo,’ he breathes. He shoves him in the chest. ‘Kuroo! For real?’

‘For real,’ Kuroo repeats.

‘Bro, what the hell, that’s _awesome!_ ’ Bokuto crows, practically bouncing in his seat. A proposal! His best friends getting engaged? Nothing could be better than this! But then he notices Kuroo’s shy expression has formed into one of pure nervousness. ‘Hey, why the face?’

‘I just—’ Throwing his hands in the air, Kuroo grumbles, ‘Ugh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s too soon?’

‘“Too soon”?’ Bokuto echoes dumbly. ‘Are you serious? You guys have been dating for _five years_.’

‘Yeah, I know… but it’s not like we can… officially do it.’

Bokuto’s heart hangs heavy in his chest at the pout assuming Kuroo’s mouth. Yet he’s quick to say, ‘Yeah, I know. But still! That sure as hell isn’t gonna stop me from throwing you guys the _biggest_ engagement party,’ because him not giving his friends the party they deserve is a crime in the _Best Bros_ manual.

Kuroo immediately perks up at the promise _._ ‘Don’t go too crazy though.’

‘Not gonna make any promises, bro,’ he tells him, barking out a laugh when Kuroo smacks him lightly on the shoulder.

‘I’ll let you loose on one condition,’ Kuroo declares lowly, and Bokuto stops laughing abruptly.

‘And what’s that?’

With the infamous conniving Kuroo grin coming into existence, Kuroo tells him with absolute finality, ‘You invite your “‘Kaashi” over for dinner this weekend. With us.’

‘Okay…’ Bokuto agrees, weighing the pros and cons of the situation in his head. _Akaashi did ask if I was free this weekend, which means he’s free, right? But then Kuroo and Kenma are gonna bully him… but then Akaashi will have met them and that’s a good thing. More friends and I don’t have to hide him!_ ‘Okay, I think I can manage that.’

‘Good.’ With that, Kuroo settles back into his seat properly and blinks when he glances out the windshield. ‘Ah—and I think that would be our client.’

Sure enough, when Bokuto looks through the glass, he can make out the wiry frame of a teenage girl dumping her bag by the fence of the court and running up to someone who is clearly the coach.

_Showtime._

The air outside the car isn’t any cooler than the inside of Kuroo’s car as Bokuto steps out of it, and the summer sun beats down on the back of his neck in varying degrees of heat. He joins Kuroo’s side as they make their way towards the court, Kuroo with a folder in his hand and Bokuto watching him from the corner of his eye. Anyone looking their way could presume that they’ve had a pretty rough morning at work or that the heat has knocked them down a few notches, given Kuroo’s pace is sluggish and Bokuto keeps running his wrist over his chin.

But as Kuroo suppresses a yawn, Bokuto’s instincts kick into gear. The news of his best friend proposing may have deterred him from the problem at hand, but he knows that if he doesn’t bring it up again now, another chance may not come to him for quite some time—and by then, it might be too late.

It’s time to throw caution to the wind (even though there’s no wind at the present moment, but Bokuto’s not keeping track of that).

‘By the way, Kuroo,’ he starts, biting back a laugh at the wide-eyed look of curiosity encompassing Kuroo’s face as he whips around to look at him. ‘I needa talk to ya about something.’

Kuroo frowns, then relaxes as he says, ‘Oh yeah, you were gonna say something before your friend called. What is it? Everything cool?’

‘Not really,’ Bokuto tells him honestly. ‘Well, that’s to say—Kenma’s worried about you. _I’m_ worried about you.’

‘What about, silly?’ Kuroo laughs and claps his friend on the shoulder as he resumes walking towards the courts. ‘I’m fine!’

‘So why’re you coming home late? Ken said you don’t arrive until one in the morning.’

At that, Kuroo reels backwards like he’s been slapped, shock flying outwards to every crevice of his face. Bokuto says nothing else, waiting patiently for Kuroo’s answer and thinking up a million possibilities of how to break whatever he’s about to hear to Kenma.

Kuroo may be his best friend, partner in crime, brother-from-another-mother, but that doesn’t mean he won’t protect Kenma’s heart if it’s going to be broken, proposal or no proposal.

‘Fuck, I thought he was asleep. Then again, when does he ever sleep?’ is what Kuroo mutters after a moment. Guilt mars his features, down to the dip of his lips and middle of his furrowed brow, and when he looks right at Bokuto, he can feel the emotion beam right in the centre of his soul. ‘It’s not what you think… if you’re even thinking it.’

Bokuto rolls his eyes.

‘Kuroo, I know you’re not stupid enough to cheat, so no, I’m not thinking that,’ he says plainly. ‘But something’s up, isn’t it?’

His eyebrows fly into his hairline when Kuroo shakes his head.

‘I meant it, Bo,’ Kuroo murmurs. ‘When I said things are really good with us, I meant it. It’s because they’re so good that I’m… well, starting to make sure we’re like this for the long haul, I guess.’

‘What is _that_ supposed to mean?’

‘It means I’m trying to make sure we’re financially sound, Bo,’ Kuroo explains. ‘Need the extra cash.’

_Well… I suppose that makes sense…_ Bokuto muses. _But why does he make it sound like an excuse?_

‘It’s not gonna be for much longer,’ Kuroo adds in a whisper when Bokuto remains silent, ‘I can promise you that.’

‘For some reason that doesn’t fill me with confidence, bro,’ Bokuto tells him, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning deeply. ‘For fuck’s sake, you’re gonna make yourself sick!’

‘I’m _fine_ ,’ Kuroo stresses, voice firm. It softens, however, when he smiles at his friend and says, ‘But thanks for looking out for me.’

‘Of course, bro.’ Bokuto sends him a gentle smile and nudges his shoulder. ‘What are friends for?’

Kuroo winks at him and starts walking again, saying something along the lines of _c’mon, we better hurry before they start training!_ Bokuto follows close behind, raising a hand to cover his eyes from the glare of sunshine coming through the leaves of the trees.

But just as they reach the edge of the court, Kuroo greeting the coach with a loud _hi! We’re from…_ the realisation of Kuroo’s _real_ reason for working himself into the ground hits Bokuto at the same time a volleyball slams against the asphalt. 

* * *

When it comes to secrets, Bokuto considers himself pretty good at keeping them hidden. To this day, he prides himself in being the sole person who knows about _Kuroo, Seventeen vs The Upper Gymnasium Window of 2012_ and _Kenma, Eighteen vs Hinata, Seventeen in the Bathroom Debacle of 2014_ . But as he enters Kenma’s and Kuroo’s apartment three days after his talk with Kuroo, introducing a bashful-looking Akaashi to his high school friends, Bokuto starts to think how can he possibly keep the fact that Kuroo’s overworking himself because of a _ring_ from Kenma?

He had considered asking Akaashi for some advice on the matter when he had called him to tell him about being invited over for dinner, but had decided against it for fear of revealing too much too soon. After all, Kuroo had only _just_ thrown this information at him, and Bokuto is very aware of the phrase _counting your chickens before they hatch._

The weight is incessantly present as Kuroo and Kenma take in Akaashi and aim waggling eyebrows and smirks Bokuto’s way, as they sit down at the table laden with dishes Bokuto is sure Kuroo had spent the day cooking, and as they eat and drink and talk through the evening. What makes it worse is that Kuroo’s life-changing news is mixed in with the trepidation of his closest friends meeting his newest one—one, he has to say, they don’t know anything about save for what Kuroo had managed to drag out of Bokuto in the car.

His eyes flick between the three men, taking in Akaashi’s calm façade, Kenma’s scrutinising gaze and Kuroo’s unblinking eyes throughout the entirety of dinner. He chips in where necessary, but the conversation (amazingly) is run by the three of them. From sports (inevitably volleyball, much to Kuroo’s intrigue when Akaashi mentions being a fan of it) to favourite dishes to a new serial being released later that month that they’re all keen to watch, the table becomes less full with food and _first-time-meeting-you_ tension and fuller with words and laughter. Bokuto, for once, is happy just observing and letting the low voices of his three friends warm him like a snuggly blanket in the middle of winter.

(But what he does notice here and there is Kuroo’s calculating eyes and Kenma’s curious tone when he asks Akaashi a question, things Bokuto has become familiar with over the years.)

Towards the end of dinner, work comes up as their chosen topic. Akaashi’s expression is one of consistent amazement as Kenma details his job as a gamer, YouTuber and CEO, and even laughs a little bit when Kenma adds _as all that, you’d think I’d get away from university, but no._ He glances quickly at Bokuto when Kuroo talks about how they work together at the same company, and smiles when Kuroo adds _it doesn’t feel like work—not with him, anyway_ and smacks Bokuto’s hand in a loud high-five.

‘So that’s that, I guess! But y’know, Bo mentioned you’re an editor,’ Kuroo states around his last mouthful of grilled fish. ‘Anything we might’ve read?’

The same veneer of relief that had coated a bitter cup of coffee in a café near Shinjuku Station encompasses Akaashi’s face—and the slight smile gracing his lips is aimed not at Kuroo or Kenma, but at Bokuto as he puts down his chopsticks and opens his mouth to answer the question.

‘Like I told Bokuto-san, unless you’re into zombies, no,’ Akaashi replies.

‘Well, just your luck that I am into zombies, then,’ Kenma pipes up, and Bokuto has to smile at the excited gleam in his eyes. ‘Which series is it?’

Akaashi looks surprised, but says, ‘Do you read _Zombie Knight Zom’bish_ by any chance? It’s rather long, but it’s nearing its end.’

‘That’s the one by Udai Tenma, right? Kenma asks, and upon receiving an affirming nod from Akaashi, he adds, ‘he’s the one Shouyou was always talking about.’

‘Shouyou?’ Bokuto asks in confusion. ‘What’s Shouyou gotta do with _Zom’bish_?’

‘The mangaka was “The Little Giant” from Karasuno,’ is all the clarification Kenma gives him, and ignores the following _oh yeah, that guy!_ from Bokuto in favour of asking Akaashi for spoilers on the next chapter because _yes, I do read_ Zom’bish _and I want to know what happened to that guy at the end of the last chapter_. Akaashi, surprisingly, doesn’t hesitate to launch straight into an explanation, and Kenma’s expression becomes more and more invigorated with each new plot point that comes out of Akaashi’s mouth.

Bokuto would focus on the way words fall past Akaashi lips if it weren’t for the way Kuroo locks eyes with him and winks. A smirk curls at one corner of his mouth and Bokuto’s heart skips a beat.

_Oh no, Kuroo, buddy, don’t do this_ —

‘Say, Akaashi-kun,’ Kuroo starts once Akaashi’s let loose the ending to the next chapter and Kenma’s both impressed and shocked, ‘can I have a word with ya in the kitchen?’

There’s a stunned pause as Akaashi blinks at Kuroo’s request, no doubt taking a moment to register his words. Then he nods and murmurs out _of course_ before they both rise from the table and head towards the kitchen, Akaashi taking his glass of water with him and Kuroo depositing his hands into his pockets. Bokuto watches them go apprehensively, because when Kuroo promised that he’d tell him to his face what he thought of his new friend, Bokuto had nightmares leading up to this dinner of all the ways he could say that Akaashi isn’t good for him.

Bokuto doesn’t get to ponder on the idea for much longer when Kenma fixes him with a concerned look over the rim of his glass.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asks him as soon as they disappear into the kitchen. ‘You’ve been on edge all night.’

Bokuto blinks at him, panic rising up into his chest and wrapping around his lungs. Shit, how is he supposed to keep his mouth shut when it’s just the two of them in here? He prays to whatever god is up in the sky that Kenma isn’t able to pick apart the problem this time, not when it concerns him and his future with Kuroo. He’s sure Kuroo will never speak to him again if he lets this one fly out into the open.

Before he can say anything, however, Kenma pats his hand with his own and offers him a small, soft smile.

‘If you’re worried about Akaashi, don’t be,’ Kenma tells him, and Bokuto can only stare. ‘He seems like a nice guy. And if you trust him, then I don’t see any reason for either me or Kuro to think otherwise. But I gotta ask: how’d you two meet?’

‘Kuroo didn’t tell you?’ Bokuto asks incredulously.

 _How bizarre_ , he thinks, because since when doesn’t Kuroo immediately blab to Kenma any important information about him, especially about his love life? When all he gets as a response is _he said it was your story to tell—something about it being a huge deal_ , Bokuto groans low in his throat. How can he not tell Kenma now?

So he does, making sure to keep the details out ( _we talked, we drank, and we, uh… Slept together, I guess…_ ) and with each passing second, Kenma’s expression becomes more and more crumbled. By the time Bokuto finishes, Kenma’s clearly fighting back a smile, and it makes Bokuto frown in confusion.

‘That’s it?’ Kenma asks, voice choked from keeping back his laughter. ‘Fuck, I thought you’d gone and gotten married or something with the way Kuroo carried on.’

‘Kenma!’

A chuckle fills the air and Kenma shakes his head. Bokuto simply pouts, feeling put out by the reaction. It quickly disappears when Kenma takes a sip of water and puts his glass back down onto the table.

‘I’m messing with you. I’m proud of you, really,’ he says, and Bokuto watches the grin on Kenma’s face bloom into existence. But it quickly falls a second later as something sparks in his eyes, expression curious and tone mirroring it as such when he asks, ‘D’you think you’ll take it any further, though?’

Immediately shaking his head, Bokuto opens his mouth to tell Kenma how they’re just friends and it’s cool like that; but he’s interrupted as Kuroo and Akaashi come back out from the kitchen, Kuroo with a grin like the cat who got the cream and Akaashi with canyons forming at the dip between his eyebrows. Just as Bokuto is about to ask what’s up, Akaashi sinks into the seat next to him and reaches for the water pitcher in the centre of the table.

‘Bokuto-san, your friend is a pain in the arse.’

Many things happen at once: Kenma spits out a laugh; Bokuto lets out a shocked sound; and Kuroo gasps dramatically whilst clutching at his chest, yelling out in a very high-pitched voice _the audacity! I take it back, you’re a terrible human being, Akaashi-kun!_

But with the way Akaashi’s mouth curls into a smile along the rim of his now full glass of water, Bokuto finds all the tension that had been brewing in his stomach for the past several minutes dissolving into nothing. Amongst Kuroo’s offended squealing, Kenma’s sharp jibes at his boyfriend and Akaashi’s crinkled eyes, Bokuto mirrors that gentle curve of lips and lets his laughs bounce off the walls, something close to fondness poking tentatively between his ribs.

**.**

(Akaashi is well aware of Bokuto’s fearful eyes boring into his back as he enters the kitchen. The glass feels slippery against his fingers, but he is sure that Kuroo is feeling the same as he is, given Akaashi’s gaze is set right in the middle of his shirt-clad back. But then he turns, and Akaashi takes in calm eyes and crossed arms as Kuroo makes himself comfortable against the edge of the kitchen sink. He can hear Bokuto talking to Kenma back in the main room, and his voice is more than enough to make his heart smile; and it allows him to lean on the counter and aim a raised eyebrow at Kuroo.

‘What would you like to discuss?’ he asks, swirling the water around in his glass.

‘Bokuto,’ Kuroo replies without any hesitation, ‘and your intentions with him.’

The water stills.

‘I have no intentions, Kuroo-san,’ Akaashi tells him curtly. ‘At least none that would be considered harmful.’

‘I’ll be the judge of that, I reckon,’ Kuroo says, and the grin he aims Akaashi’s way feels like a knife to his throat. ‘Do you like him?’

‘Yes.’ Akaashi laughs breathlessly to himself. ‘Yes, I do.’

‘Do you want to be more than friends?’

Akaashi frowns at that.

‘Kuroo-san, I’ve only known the man for a little over a month. I can hardly give you an answer like that when—’

‘Didn’t stop you two from sleeping with each other the night you met, did it?’ Kuroo bites back. ‘Look, Bokuto’s not exactly a “no” guy. He’d rather make someone else happy before he thinks about himself. It’s gotten him into a load of shitty situations.’

Akaashi’s grip on his glass tightens.

‘I admit our… night together was done unthinkingly,’ he says lowly, ‘and perhaps it was a mistake, but it’s not one I regret—nor does Bokuto-san, from what he has told me. Yes, it’s an unconventional way of gaining a new friend, but I would never take advantage of someone like that. I respect Bokuto-san, more than I respect myself, in all honesty. He’s his own person. He’s a good man and I enjoy his presence very much…’

He trails off at the expression encompassing Kuroo’s face—or rather watches as his mouth curls into a smirk too mischievous to be labelled as anything else. Akaashi feels his resolve wither away and escape through the heavy sigh that passes his lips.

‘This is a test,’ he murmurs; a statement, not a question.

‘No, I’m just messing with you,’ Kuroo whispers, winking at Akaashi as he does so. ‘But I appreciate what you said about Bo.’

Dumping his glass with a loud _clank_ on the counter, Akaashi shoves his hands in his pants’ pockets and thins his mouth.

‘Well, I don’t appreciate being grilled about my _intentions_ , Kuroo-san, joke or not,’ Akaashi says firmly. ‘But I can understand where you’re coming from.’

‘The guy’s my best friend. How can I not test you a bit?’ Blowing out a short breath, Kuroo runs a hand through his hair and locks eyes with Akaashi. ‘He’s told you about… his past relationships, yeah?’

Akaashi merely stares at Kuroo for a brief moment before nodding. He tells him how Bokuto had confided in him the night they met, albeit in a vague manner and without too much detail. Kuroo purses his lips at this information and rubs at his chin when Akaashi adds that it didn’t really need to take much to understand what Bokuto was getting at.

‘That sounds like him, alright,’ he muses. ‘Well, that’s to say, the Bokuto from the past two years would say something like that. High school Bokuto wouldn’t have cared—would have brushed it off and moved on with life. His last relationship really fucked him over—ah, pardon my language.’

Waving him off, Akaashi glances down at his nails, organising the questions that are pressing up against his temple. He’s not sure which one to ask first for all of them need prompt answers.

‘Why are you telling me this?’ is what he settles on, followed quickly by, ‘and why is it something I need to know? I think both Bokuto-san and I have made it clear that we’re simply friends. No more, no less.’

Kuroo blinks at him, confusion written all over his face. Then he lets out an _ah_ before he holds out his hands towards Akaashi in a gesture that spells _it’s to do with you, really._

‘I’ll be blunt, Akaashi-kun. Bokuto’s not the type to have one-night stands, or even go home with a stranger on the day he meets them. So the fact that he did… with _you_ … I think that’s important, especially given everything that’s happened since we graduated high school. All I’m trying to say is that Bokuto’s transitioning, to put it in so many words. He’s a changed guy, sure, and always will be, but I think he’s slowly growing back into himself—back into that confident dude who didn’t take shit from anyone about the important things. Just… be patient with him. He’ll open up to you more than he has in the past. I’m sure of it. You’re a good guy, Akaashi-kun.’

Akaashi thinks about this for all of three seconds before he blurts out, ‘You couldn’t have told me that when we walked in here?’

Kuroo laughs and pushes himself off the kitchen sink. ‘Now where’s the fun in that? C’mon, we should get back before Bokuto thinks I’ve eaten you.’

Grabbing his glass on the way out, Akaashi decides to down the rest of his water instead of dumping it into the mess that is Kuroo’s hair. But he cannot deny that the words exchanged between them hold a weight much heavier than the knowledge that resides deep in his heart, one that is crawling out of its confines with each passing second.

He quickly shoves it back in where it belongs, because now is not the time for it to overtake his subconscious, not when Bokuto needs time to heal.

Not when Bokuto looks at him as he returns to the main room with something akin to that of polite confusion. It’s an expression that doesn’t belong on his face at all. Akaashi knows Kuroo is right, and he knows that only friends such as Bokuto and Kuroo know things about each other that no one else will know for at least another few years—but Akaashi has seen remnants of Bokuto’s true potential shine in his most vulnerable moments.

As he returns to his seat and reaches for the water pitcher in the centre of the table, Akaashi comes to the conclusion that Bokuto needs to soar, to break from the chains that keep him down, the ones that belittle him and that force him to be small. And he decides that no matter where this journey will take them, he wants to be there every step of the way.

_Damn you, Kuroo-san._ )

* * *

**Akaashi [22:06]**

Hello Bokuto-san

Just wanted to see if you got home  
alright ****

**Bokuto Koutarou [22:12]**

Akaashi!!

I did, I did, just walked through  
the front door

are you home yet?? ****

**Akaashi [22:14]**

That’s good

And yes, I’ve been home for a while

**Bokuto Koutarou [22:14]**

aww so you decided to check up  
on me??

I’m touched (μ_μ) ****

**Akaashi [22:15]**

It’s nothing

Did you have a good night?

You seemed… off for some of it

**Bokuto Koutarou [22:15]**

ah…

I’m fine, Akaashi, don’t worry!

just been put into an awkward  
situation with Kuroo and Ken

nothing to worry about though!

so don’t stress

**Bokuto Koutarou [22:16]**

but yeah I had a good night

did you have fun??

I know Kuroo’s full on and I /know/  
something happened in the kitchen!!

he didn’t interrogate you did he? ****

**Akaashi [22:16]**

Bokuto-san, I believe you are  
deflecting

**Bokuto Koutarou [22:16]**

me!?

never!! ****

**Akaashi [22:17]**

Hmm, if you say so…

But I did have fun, yes

Kuroo-san is an… interesting person,  
shall we say?

And no, it wasn’t an interrogation so  
much as a discussion

**Akaashi [22:18]**

He clearly cares about you

**Bokuto Koutarou [22:18]**

Akaashi

if he said something mean to you  
you can tell me! i’ll beat him up  
for you Q(`⌒´Q) ****

**Akaashi [22:19]**

That won’t be necessary

He’s just looking out for you

**Bokuto Koutarou [22:19]**

I know

still doesn’t give him the right  
to be mean to you!! ****

**Akaashi [22:20]**

I can assure you, Bokuto-san,  
everything is fine

So… about that situation? ****

**Bokuto Koutarou [22:20]**

… it's a secret

Kuroo might kill me if I tell  
anyone

Kenma included

but it’s nothing bad, I promise! ****

**Akaashi [22:21]**

I see

You have some interesting friends,  
Bokuto-san

**Bokuto Koutarou [22:21]**

don’t I know it!!

they like you though

and you’ve been invited to join  
them again whenever you can!

that basically means you’re family  
now. you’re stuck with us now!! ****

**Akaashi [22:22]**

Well… that does make me happy

I hope I can see them again soon

And you, of course

**Bokuto Koutarou [22:22]**

of course!!

how about Monday??

lunch break?? ****

**Akaashi [22:23]**

I look forward to it

**Bokuto Koutarou [22:23]**

it’s a date!!

I mean… not a date date

y’know ****

**Akaashi [22:24]**

I’ll see you at our play date,  
Bokuto-san

wwwww

**Bokuto Koutarou [22:24]**

Akaaaashiiii!!

that was mean ****

**Akaashi [22:25]**

I’m simply teasing

But I will see you then

For now, I wish you a  
goodnight. I’m afraid I have  
a chapter to edit

**Bokuto Koutarou [22:26]**

night Akaashi!

don’t stay up too late, please!!

I know I say that all the time  
but I know you!! sleep!! ****

**Akaashi [22:26]**

I will

Sweet dreams, Bokuto-san

**Bokuto Koutarou [22:27]**

you too!!

The phone lands on his chest and Bokuto grins up at the ceiling. _It’s funny_ , he thinks, _how much Akaashi makes me smile._ The dinner couldn’t have gone better, and even Kuroo’s secret hanging over his head isn’t enough to quell the grin plastered on his face.

Monday can’t come soon enough.

* * *

If anyone were to tell Bokuto two years ago that his future held happiness, he would have sent them a blank look and dismissed such a prediction, because how could he ever be happy again after having been done so dirtily by his ex-girlfriend? As it turns out, the next few weeks see Bokuto happier than the past two years since his breakup with Megumi, and not even the intermittent heatwaves that summer has been in possession of so far can make the silver lining around his heart vanish.

His job has been exciting, the scouting season rife with numerous, incredibly talented players; he’s made more high school kids smile and shriek in excitement than winning spikes he’s made since his first year of high school (and he had plenty of those in his short volleyball career). His afternoons have been filled with phone calls, trying to get in touch with big league teams to ask if they could add another player to their tryouts list (something Kuroo would eventually take over since he knows better out of the pair of them when tryouts are and who’s hosting them).

Wednesday night dinners with Kenma have drastically improved, Kuroo coming home more often than he had in the past (all thanks to Bokuto’s intervention nearly a month ago). The smile that had bloomed into existence the first night Kuroo had come with Bokuto straight after work has stayed in place ever since, and perhaps the best part of it all is watching all the worry lines vanish from Kuroo’s forehead the moment Kenma brings him in for a welcome home kiss, the effects of a long day simply dissipating into nothing.

But if Bokuto had to pick the most exciting thing to have happened so far, it would have to be Kuroo asking him to come with him to a jeweller. They had spent hours on a sweltering Saturday inside an air-conditioned jewellery shop in the city centre’s largest shopping centre, eyes raking over all the ring displays in search of the perfect one. Eventually, they had decided on three choices, Kuroo promising to return as soon as he’s made his final choice.

 _It’s all coming together, Bo_ , he had said wistfully, nearly cutting off the circulation in Bokuto’s arm from how hard he was gripping it. _Fuck, I’m so nervous but I can’t wait to actually do it. It’s gonna be perfect._

When Kuroo is as excited as that, when all his clients have shining eyes, and when Kenma looks more content than he has in months, how can Bokuto _not_ be in excellent spirits?

(What Bokuto doesn’t mention, however, are how his hangouts with Akaashi may also contribute to his incredibly good mood. They’ve been meeting regularly, sometimes in a café or a restaurant, or other times in a park near their workplaces. What he also doesn’t mention (or perhaps doesn’t want to admit) is that each time he sees him, all blue-eyed and dark-curled and furtive-smirked, something sparks alight in his chest. What that is, Bokuto doesn’t know, but he sure knows that it feels _extremely_ nice.)

His mood continues to be good even now at the beginning of July as Bokuto sits at a corner booth in a nearby yakiniku joint, humming to himself as he scrolls through his phone. He’s been granted an extended lunch break, to which he’d decided to give an old friend of his a call, asking if he was free for lunch today. Much to his joy, said friend is free and, as he glances up from his phone, Bokuto sees the familiar lopsided grin of Konoha Akinori as he moves towards him from the other end of the restaurant.

They don’t hesitate to fall straight into a tight hug and a few slaps on the back, exchanging _wow, long time no see_ ’s and _I’ve forgotten what ya look like_ ’s. Sitting down once they part, Bokuto feels the air between them charge with nostalgia, for the last time they’d sat down like this had been just before Konoha got his current job a few years ago.

 _Shit, that’s too long_ , he thinks, and Konoha seems to agree when he aims something along the lines of _this is the last time you’re getting away without seeing me for this long!_ at him. Bokuto merely laughs and Konoha, in true fashion, tuts loudly at him.

‘You look good,’ he tells Bokuto softly after a brief moment, a rare, genuine smile on his face.

‘I feel good!’ Bokuto agrees. He gestures at his friend. ‘I like the haircut. Suits ya!’

‘Ya think?’ Running a hand through the short strands, Konoha lets out a huff and wrinkles his nose in distaste. ‘Komi and Saru are giving me shit for it. Sayin’ I’m showin’ too much forehead.’

Laughing, Bokuto shakes his head and says, ‘It’s a great forehead!’ As Konoha rolls his eyes at him, Bokuto drops his voice to a whisper as he then asks, ‘But the question is: what does Yukippe think about it?’

Something close to a blush appears under Konoha’s lower lashes, and his almost intelligible murmur of _she likes it_ makes a large grin stretch across Bokuto’s lips. It earns him a kick in the shin under the table, but he finds himself not caring as he asks about what their former manager has been up to. The conversation between them doesn’t lull, even once they order and receive their lunch, the pair going from topic to topic with ease: Bokuto learns about Komi’s latest audition, Sarukui’s mixer woes (his colleagues keep dragging him to them), Kaori’s horrifically terrible boss ( _he’s a proper dickhead,_ Konoha had told him sorrowfully) and Yukie’s plan to move to Shinjuku later next month.

(‘Oh, that’s nice! She’ll be closer to you then, wouldn’t she?’

(‘I mean, yeah, but that’s not her prime concern. It’s more that she’s closer to her new office and all.’

(‘Uh huh, okay, Aki. If ya say so.’

(‘Oh, fuck you, Bokuto.’)

The conversation does, predictably, eventually end up being about volleyball as Bokuto listens to Konoha relay his team’s latest game while chewing on some rice and fried meat.

‘I mean, I know Ehrgeiz Pharma is no all-star team, but the teams we’ve been up against lately kinda suck,’ Konoha gripes in a way that implicitly states _like c’mon, you think we’re_ that _bad?_ ‘I’m just waiting for the day when I get to play against our kouhai—think he’s in Tamaden Elephants, last I heard?—or even give good ol’ Washio a run for his money.’

Bokuto snorts. ‘Bro, Washio’s in a Division One team.’

‘I _know_ that! Which is why we gotta aim for the top, right?’ Tutting loudly, Konoha continues in an off-handed tone, ‘Aren’t ya supposed to be, y’know, cheerin’ us on or something? So much for high school comradery.’

‘Aw, Aki, you need my support?’ Bokuto sings. ‘Of course you have it! But EJP Raijin are no joke. Their libero is kinda scary…’

‘I say bring it on.’ Konoha throws Bokuto a wide smirk, reminiscent of the ones he used to harbour in the middle of a Nationals match when things were going their way. ‘If anyone’s gonna bring down that libero, it’ll be me.’

All Bokuto can do is smile at him, the image of him getting in the face of EJP Raijin’s libero extremely strong (and totally possible. Konoha has, after all, never been one to back down from a challenge, not to mention that an all-rounder like him could potentially bring anyone down if he wanted to).

A beat passes between them and Konoha fixes Bokuto with a sharp look. When Bokuto merely stares at him in confusion, he breathes out a sigh. 

‘You still at the company?’ he asks, regarding his friend with a raised brow.

Nodding, Bokuto takes a sip of his drink. ‘Yep! Funnily enough, Kuroo and I just got in touch with a scouting agent who’s got his eye on a promising young lady from Niiyama Girl’s High up in Miyagi. According to him, she’s Division One worthy—she’s coming down next week to meet us, so hopefully we can get her into the Youth Camp in spring!’

Konoha’s eyes widen. ‘Whoa, that good, huh?’

‘Yeah!’ Making a soft noise at the back of his throat, Bokuto fishes out his phone and scrolls through his most recent messages before finding a short video. ‘Check this out—look at how hard she slams that ball down! She’s clearly ace material! Fuck, I’m buzzing, I’m _that_ excited!’

Once the video ends, he shoots his friend a large smile, nerves alive with white-hot sparks. Konoha’s expression is one of awe, jaw slack and eyes unblinking; but when he lifts his gaze to Bokuto’s face, awe morphs into nostalgia, which makes something strange stir in Bokuto’s stomach.

‘Don’t you miss it?’ is the question that passes Konoha’s lips in response to Bokuto’s curious eyebrow. ‘Sure, it’s great that you’re getting others into the sport and giving them a chance to play with the big teams, but… don’t you wanna play again?’

Bokuto instantly groans.

‘Don’t,’ he grouses, finger pointed at Konoha’s nose. ‘I’ve already heard it from Kuroo, and my answer’s still the same. I’m not ready to go back—hell, I don’t think I ever will! My time’s passed, man. I threw that dream away the moment I decided not to accept that scout offer at the end of high school.’ He lets out a humourless laugh and scrubs at his hair. ‘Geez, at this rate, even Akaashi’s gonna find out and ask me the same thing.’

‘“Akaashi”?’ Konoha leans forward on his elbows, eyes narrowing and tone full of intrigue as he asks, the rest of Bokuto’s spiel clearly having gone over his head, ‘Who’s Akaashi?’

Bokuto blinks at him, the question taking a moment to reach his brain. When it does, his mouth parts into an ‘o’, realising that yes, of course, Konoha doesn’t know who Akaashi is at all.

‘Akaashi. Yeah.’ Clearing his throat, Bokuto informs him, ‘He’s a friend of mine. Met him a couple of months ago.’

‘Friend?’ Konoha repeats, and Bokuto frowns at the grin that is slowly shifting into a menacing one that’s all too familiar.

‘ _Friend_ ,’ Bokuto stresses and pouts. ‘Can’t a dude have a friend?’

‘Of course. But given your track record, most of your new “friends” turn out not to be.’ Shrugging, Konoha takes a bite of his chicken and mumbles around his mouthful, ‘But if you say you’re just friends, I believe you.’

‘Fuck, you’re so annoying,’ Bokuto grumbles, but his lips quirk up at the sight of Konoha’s faux nonchalant expression. ‘I’m serious, though. We’re just friends.’

‘Says the protagonist in _every_ rom-com movie,’ Konoha retorts, and laughs when Bokuto scowls heavily at him. ‘Okay, okay, you’re friends. Got it loud and clear, bro.’

‘Dick.’

‘Love ya too, buddy.’

They descend into more talking—or rather into more teasing on Konoha’s behalf—but Bokuto finds himself only half present.

Has he really become _more-than-friends_ with everyone he’s met since he’d broken up with his high school boyfriend? He must have, otherwise Konoha wouldn’t have said it, right? And he ponders on it just as Konoha breaks into a retelling of one of his matches against another local team, going through each of his relationships and figuring out how they started.

Then he thinks about Akaashi and their one night together and nearly chokes on nothing. _But that’s irrelevant, ‘cause Akaashi and I aren’t dating. And that’s fine._

After all, they’d made it perfectly clear that they’re only friends now. Surely some one-night stands end up with the couple becoming great friends with no strings attached and no feelings involved, right?

Right? 

* * *

**Akaashi [19:51]**

Good evening Bokuto-san

How was your day?

**Bokuto Koutarou [19:53]**

hi Akaashi!!

it was great! met up with an old  
high school friend of mine for  
lunch today

had a good catch up with him

how was yours? ****

**Akaashi [19:54]**

That’s nice to hear. Has it been long since  
you last saw him?

And it was eventful. Had a battle  
with the office printer, and I think Udai-san  
nearly had a heart-attack when I told him  
we couldn’t release the latest chapter due to  
a server error. 

**Bokuto Koutarou [19:55]**

well that doesn’t sound like fun. did  
you manage to sort it out??

and yeah, it’s been a few years!! we  
both just got so busy with work and  
stuff that we never really managed  
to hang out until now

**Bokuto Koutarou [19:56]**

but something tells me you’re not  
texting me just to ask about my day

what’s up? ****

**Akaashi [19:56]**

Yes we did manage

And ah  
I appear to have been caught

But it’s nothing all that special

I just wanted to see if you were free this  
weekend during the day

**Bokuto Koutarou [19:57]**

this weekend??

unfortunately im not

i coach junior high kids on the  
weekends during the day!! ****

**Akaashi [19:57]**

Coach?

**Bokuto Koutarou [19:57]**

yeah!!

volleyball teams!!

**Bokuto Koutarou [19:58]**

wait

i just got a great idea

you should come!!

you don’t have to coach or  
anything, but you can come watch  
and then we can hang out after!!

whaddya say Akaashi?

**Bokuto Koutarou [19:59]**

you can say no by the way

this is 100% optional

just an idea and all ****

**Akaashi [19:59]**

No Bokuto-san

I’d actually really love that

Sounds like fun ****

**Bokuto Koutarou [19:59]**

really!?

Akaashi!! ****

**Akaashi [20:00]**

Ah, my apologies, Udai-san is  
calling me, I must go

May you send me the details? I’ll  
get back to you as soon as I can

**Bokuto Koutarou [20:00]**

of course!!

go do your editing thing (o^▽^o) ****

**Akaashi [20:00]**

Talk soon, Bokuto-san

**Bokuto Koutarou [20:01]**

bye Akaashi!!

* * *

Bokuto should have known this would happen, and he should feel apologetic about it, but he finds himself smiling instead as all the kids that are a part of the Sunday late afternoon training session immediately flock to the newcomer in varying degrees of _hey, hey Bokuto-sensei, is he gonna coach us too?_ and _whoa, you’re so handsome, Stranger-san!_

After a quick discussion last night, Bokuto had sent Akaashi the details of the current training session of fourteen year olds as promised, wanting to spare him the extremely energetic nature of the six year olds in the morning and the zero-filter mouths of the ten year olds of the early afternoon. But he’s forgotten how nosy the current age bracket is, and he laughs as Akaashi sends him a bewildered look over the heads of at least eight, awestruck children.

It takes a quick _okay, kids, let him breathe!_ for the group to back away and for Bokuto to take in Akaashi’s volleyball shorts and pale yellow jersey. Akaashi waves off his curious look with a mouthed _I’ll tell you later_ and smiles down at the kids, introducing himself softly as Akaashi Keiji and that he’s Bokuto-san’s friend. It’s funny how immediately after the words hit the air, Bokuto’s heart flies into his throat as the kids bow Akaashi’s way and badger him to help out with training.

They’re there for a few hours, Bokuto correcting forms and throwing volleyballs just shy of the net in spiking and setting drills, and Akaashi watching from the sidelines. There are a few moments where Akaashi gives out pointers— _I suggest you splay your fingers rather than keeping them together. You’ll avoid injury that way and you’ll be able to control the ball better_ —in which the kids gape at him and immediately follow through and Bokuto stares.

_I have connections to volleyball beyond just a plain interest, Bokuto-san,_ had been his only explanation to Bokuto’s questioning glances, smiling furtively in a way that says _you’ll have to wait for the rest later_.

But Bokuto isn’t the only one to throw curious eyes. Towards the end of the session, Bokuto engages his students in their usual practice game, but is surprised they beg him to play with them. _Akaashi-san can be the ref, right, Akaashi-san?_ they had asked, and after a simple nod, Bokuto finds himself in the middle of a heated debate on whose team he should play on. It had taken a coin-toss and a few disappointed faces to decide which side Bokuto ended up on, and the following game had seen some truly extraordinary plays. His team seemed to be in high spirits of having their _super-cool_ coach on their side, and the sets he’d received had been truly amazing.

His team did end up winning, and instead of being put-out that they had lost, the opposing team had rushed up to him and fawned over his plays. _Bokuto-sensei, that spike was so cool! It went_ ba-boom _and_ whoosh! _It was really awesome!_ and _Akaashi-san, did you see that set at the end? It was like_ whoaaa _and it nearly hit the net, but then I got it!_

(It’s funny how Hinata’s face comes to mind at the phrases, orange hair bouncing wildly with each over-the-top re-enactment of someone’s play. It makes him grin inwardly and think _I should text Shouyou soon, see how he’s going in Brazil._ )

Akaashi had merely smiled, but Bokuto could see the questions flutter all over his features. It’s only a matter of time before he has to answer them, and if he’s honest with himself, he feels like he’s about to head to the school rooftop and engage in a confession.

It doesn’t take long after that for Bokuto to end the session and send the kids on a drill to see who can pick up the most balls. And as they’re packing up the court and saying goodbye to the kids once all the balls have been put away— _bye Sensei! Akaashi-san! I’ll get that spike next time for sure! Just you wait!_ —Bokuto can still feel Akaashi’s scrutinising gaze on his back. He knows that he wants to ask, to figure out why someone working at a scouting company would spend his weekends training junior high school kids, to know if… maybe… he was like them once?

Much to his surprise, what Akaashi says to him in a soft tone is, ‘You’re good at this, Bokuto-san,’ as he deposits a pair of volleyballs into the cart next to him.

Bokuto grins at him.

‘Thanks, ‘Kaashi!’ He hums to himself as he fiddles with the ropes on one side of the net. ‘I _did_ play volleyball in high school, after all. Guess I wanted to keep up with it once I left.’

‘You didn’t want to try out for a professional team?’ Akaashi inquiries curiously, eyebrows heading towards his hairline.

There it is. The inevitable question.

‘I did,’ is Bokuto’s inevitable answer. When Akaashi motions with his hand for him to continue, Bokuto merely shrugs and continues with, ‘I just couldn’t. Long story. But this is good, too! I’m making future Olympians right here!’

If Akaashi understands the subtleties, he makes no show of it on his face. Instead, he laughs gently, and Bokuto stares as he bends down to pick up a couple more volleyballs.

‘You making Olympians instead of junior high champions is so very you, Bokuto-san,’ he states, tone wise and nothing above a murmur.

Bokuto frowns at him.

‘What do you mean by that?’

Akaashi doesn’t answer straightaway, choosing to crane his head to the sky. Bokuto’s eyes follow the length of his neck to the jut of his pale yellow collar, and then back up to the point of his chin and the arm of his glasses tucked behind his ear. The late afternoon sun casts a honey glow on Akaashi’s skin, highlighting that beautiful tan colour, making Bokuto take in the sharpness of that jawline and the faraway look in his eyes as they drift over the cottoned clouds above them.

He almost misses what he says by a fraction of a second, and the way his stomach flips is not unlike a pole vaulter just making it over the line.

‘What I mean is that you don’t seem like the sort to live in the present,’ Akaashi explains, eyes still trained on the sky. ‘Instead of focusing on junior high tournaments, you’re already picturing your students as Olympians. You’re a dreamer, Bokuto-san, and I admire that about you. I’d hate to think what could stand in the way of you achieving your best, of rising to your utmost potential. You believe in these kids, no matter what skill level they’re at.’

Akaashi chooses to pause and Bokuto’s mind is spinning. He can’t make sense of anything, but then again, he doesn’t get the opportunity as Akaashi locks eyes with him; Bokuto feels every molecule of air leave his body at the glassy blue studying him, the sun filtering through the colour and trapping him in it. Then Akaashi’s voice flutters towards him and smacks him hard in the centre of his chest.

‘I just wish you’d believe that about yourself, too.’

There’s nothing in his expression to suggest joking around or simply being kind. Each word has the weight of a blue whale—this time, Bokuto _is_ sure they are the biggest—and they tear something to shreds in his subconscious. The voices that have been laying idly in his head for the past couple of years shift awake, but are silenced by words punctuating anything alive in Bokuto’s body. And the fact that Akaashi seems to _mean_ everything he’s just said is enough to send him towards something that was unreachable a mere few seconds ago.

All he can do is croak out ‘I… I do.’ He clears his throat and adds, ‘At least… more than I did a few years ago.’

That seems to please Akaashi, and he says nothing more. Instead, he jerks his head to the gate of the court and asks if they should go get some food before going home.

Bokuto follows him, and the rest of the evening is spent walking around the streets of Tokyo, laughing and sharing egg waffle cones and Akaashi chuckling at the amount of cream that gets on Bokuto’s nose with each bite; but amongst it all, Bokuto’s mind is racing with the implication behind Akaashi’s words, and his palms itch, craving the bumpy surface of the volleyballs he’s been hitting all afternoon.

_You’re worth more than you believe._

* * *

If Bokuto had to list his most favourite places in the whole world, his list would include at least four: his childhood home, that yakiniku restaurant tucked in the corner of the main city centre that does incredible lunch specials, Kuroo’s and Kenma’s cosy apartment, and any volleyball court.

It’s empty as Bokuto walks in, his shoes squeaking against the polished floor and the ceiling high as he lifts his eyes to the glaring lights. He doesn’t know what it is exactly about stepping foot into any kind of indoor volleyball court, but springs form on the underside of his sneakers and the net acts as a taunt, beckoning him to fight it, to conquer its height and soar over the top. So he dumps his belongings against a wall and makes his way over to the storage room at the back of the gym.

A fortnight has passed since he last saw Akaashi, the memory filled with cream-patterned noses, neon lights splashed over cheeks, and serious words gripping onto every crevice of his body. Maybe this is why he’s here, rolling out a full cart of volleyballs onto the edge of the court instead of being on his way home from work. Maybe this is why he’s grabbing one right in the middle, spinning it in his palms before throwing it high in the air above him and flinging his arms back as he sprints. Maybe this is why he’s here, jumping as high as he can and smacking the ball with all his might, a pleased cry rising out of his throat when the ball shoots past the net and strikes the floor before the baseline with a bang.

But it’s not just Akaashi’s words that have been plaguing him. Kuroo’s and Konoha’s have been whirling around in his mind, too, and between the three of them, Bokuto can’t make head nor tail of anything. They are all right, of course, in their own ways… Bokuto has, after all, been stuck in the same rut since the end of high school, pushing aside that coiling ache to play in favour of… what, really?

Love? Companionship? Being normal?

_What the fuck were those, anyway?_

Bokuto throws another ball and slams it down.

There’s nothing better than this. So why did he give it up?

_‘You? In volleyball? Dream on, Kou.’_

Another one flies over the net.

_‘Volleyball isn’t a real job. You’d have to be a monster to even get scouted. You’re not a monster like them, are you, babe? No.’_

Another one.

_‘C’mon, be reasonable! It’s a vicious world out there in sports, and you’re still a baby. You and your precious glass heart. I gotta protect you from all that, y’know? It’s for your own good.’_

Another one.

(It nearly comes back to him once it hits the wall on the rebound and comes hurtling back his way.)

_‘You’re a dreamer, Bokuto-san, and I admire that about you.’_

Bokuto stops.

The ball he was holding falls out of his smarting hands, rolling away from him.

_‘I keep tellin’ you, bro, but I’ll tell you again: you’re_ wasted _here. You should be on the court, not on the sidelines like this.’_

Heavy pants fill the empty hall in lieu of raining volleyballs, and it takes Bokuto a moment to realise it’s coming from him. Sucking in a breath shakily through his nose, he closes his eyes, counting down from ten in his head as he focuses on calming down.

He only reaches five. 

_‘I still don’t know why you gave up on that scout offer, Bokuto. I know you were blind in love with that arsehole, but there was something else wasn’t there?’_

Was there?

Bokuto doesn’t know anymore.

_‘D’you think you’d ever play again though?_ ’

_I want to._ He gasps softly and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. _But I don’t know_ how.

It hurts. He doesn’t exactly know where it’s hurting, but it is. Being alone on the court like this sends him back to his junior high school days, of being left on his own course; sends him back to the first time in high school when he no longer felt like a one-man show, but part of a team; sends him back to the final match in his third year, when he had come back to school and stood, just like this, in the middle of the baseline and staring down the net like it had all the answers.

That net didn’t have answers, and neither does this one. But as he stares at the interconnected squares, Bokuto realises that he knows _someone_ who might just have them. He doesn’t waste a single second as he bounds over to his belongings and finds his phone; he scrolls through his contacts until he finds him, opening their string of messages and typing out his thoughts before he can stop himself.

**Bokuto Koutarou [14:27]**

hey Shouyou!

i know you’re probably sleeping  
but i just wanted to ask you  
something

you know better than anyone  
else what it’s like to be forced to  
give up on your dream for outside  
reasons

unlike you, many have quit  
altogether

**Bokuto Koutarou [14:28]**

what made you keep going?

even when the odds were  
against you

and everyone told you you’d  
fail no matter how hard you tried

**Bokuto Koutarou [14:29]**

and told you that volleyball isn’t  
a real job…

Hitting send, Bokuto locks his phone and tosses it between his hands. There’s no way Hinata’s going to reply now given the time difference as he should be in bed now, snoring away and dreaming in a little room in Rio de Janeiro—which is why he jumps when he feels his phone vibrate against his skin and, upon glancing at his lock screen, nearly drops it when he sees who it is.

**Shouyou!! [14:31]**

Bokuto-san??

what… what’s going on??

**Bokuto Koutarou [14:31]**

Shouyou!?

why are you replying?? isn’t it super  
late in Brazil right now??

you should be asleep!! ****

**Shouyou!! [14:32]**

oh yeah!!

i'm at a wedding!!

party’s still going

**Bokuto Koutarou [14:32]**

whoa nice!!

you having fun? ****

**Shouyou!! [14:32]**

so much fun!!

but Bokuto-san… your questions

is everything ok?

Is _everything okay?_ It’s a question too hard to make sense of. His friends’ words continue to circle in his head like angry fish, and his heart is tight in his chest as he considers the idea that he’s wasted several years of his life trying to please others at the expense of his own happiness. _Fuck._ But he doesn’t tell Hinata this, deciding to play it simple instead as he shoots off a reply.

**Bokuto Koutarou [14:33]**

yeah

just been thinking a lot is all

sorry for the spam wwww ****

**Shouyou!! [14:33]**

it’s ok!! but…

Bokuto-san…

are you thinking what i think  
you’re thinking??

are you coming back to volleyball!?

**Bokuto Koutarou [14:33]**

maybe

**Bokuto Koutarou [14:34]**

i don’t know… i’ve been away from  
it for so long and while i miss it, i  
just don’t know if im ready to come  
back yet… or if at all

**Bokuto Koutarou [14:35]**

guess i just need all the facts  
before i make a decision i guess ****

**Shouyou!! [14:35]**

well i'm no expert

but it sounds to me like you  
/want/ to come back

so what’s stopping you?

i mean!! you're already saying  
that you want to make a decision

but before you told everyone (me  
included) that you were never  
coming back to volleyball

**Shouyou!! [14:36]**

so what’s changed, Bokuto-san?

Bokuto can only stare at his phone, completely gobsmacked by Hinata’s messages. Had this same boy told him anything remotely similar to this years ago on the national court, after Bokuto had told him he wasn’t continuing volleyball after school, he would have thought someone helped him memorise it or at least hinted at the right thing to say. He shakes his head and can’t help the proud smile that forms along his mouth.

**Bokuto Koutarou [14:36]**

Shouyou

when did you become so wise

**Shouyou!! [14:37]**

wwww let’s just say i’ve learned

a lot over here

also to answer your questions from  
before… i guess i just knew that this  
is what i wanna do. and for as long as  
i possibly can. if that means training  
on the sand, then so be it

and i’ve come really far since high  
school, Bokuto-san!! i know i have,  
but i believe that everything i've done  
up until now is gonna help me become  
the best

**Shouyou!! [14: 38]**

so i guess what i'm trying to say is

don’t give up!!

and please come back to volleyball,  
Bokuto-san!!

**Bokuto Koutarou [14:38]**

that makes sense, i suppose

and we’ll see

anyway, you better get back to  
the party!! and make sure you  
don’t stay too much longer

i’ll talk to you soon?? ****

**Shouyou!! [14:38]**

i’ll try!!

and yes text meeee!!!

**Bokuto Koutarou [14:39]**

i will

and… thanks for your help ****

**Shouyou!! [14:39]**

any time!!

oh!! and say hi to Kenma for me!!

Laughing to himself, Bokuto assures Hinata that he’ll pass on his _hi_ to Kenma the next time he sees him and places his phone on the top of his open bag.

_Don’t give up, huh?_

Bokuto lifts his head, stares at the collection of balls on the other end of the court and smiles.

‘Okay, then. Let’s do it. Let’s get back into volleyball, Koutarou.’

* * *

‘Really, Koutarou? You’re still hung up on your ex? The guy was a dickhead, but he was right about one thing. You were never gonna make it into volleyball—’

_Oh really?_

_Try me._

* * *

The journey home from work is often uneventful, unless it involves two very tipsy friends ambling their way back to Kenma. Tonight—thankfully—there is no alcohol involved; Bokuto feels like fainting just from the nervousness that’s rushing through each and every nerve ending alone. Alcohol would have just made it worse.

Kuroo’s humming to himself cheerily, one hand deep in his pocket and the other holding onto the suit jacket thrown over one of his shoulders as he and Bokuto walk along the lamp-lit streets to the train station. Bokuto watches him from the corner of his eye, the words that have been scratching his tongue all day—bloody hell, all _week_ since he messaged Hinata—desperate to lunge themselves into the open. He’s been trying to find an opportunity to tell Kuroo his thoughts, but between work and phone calls and the trip back to the jeweller, such opportunity hadn’t arisen.

(He hasn’t even told Akaashi yet in fear of ruining his chances. What chances? He doesn’t know, but he doesn’t want to risk anything before telling Kuroo.)

_Perhaps tonight?_ Swallowing the lump that’s growing in his throat, Bokuto bites his lip. _I should at least try, right? Before I chicken out for good._

But just as he’s about to open his mouth— _just do it! Rip off the damn band-aid—_ Kuroo yawns loudly and meets Bokuto’s gaze.

‘Man, what a day, huh?’ he says through a groan, albeit sending Bokuto a lopsided grin. ‘I can see my pillow right now… it’s calling me.’

Bokuto laughs. ‘You and me both, buddy.’

‘Yeah.’ Kuroo turns so that he’s walking backwards and fixes his friend with a raised eyebrow. ‘You coming back to mine and Kenma’s tonight?’

‘Uh, not sure,’ Bokuto replies truthfully. _Fuck, c’mon, just spit it out!_ He stops walking and watches as Kuroo staggers a bit as he stops too, now frowning deeply at Bokuto’s sudden desire to stand in the middle of the footpath. ‘Kuroo, bro, I gotta tell you something. It’s been on my mind all week and it’s driving me crazy—’

‘Whoa, hey, slow down,’ Kuroo tells him, something close to alarm encompassing his face. ‘What is it, bro? Do I need to kill someone? Help you hide a body?’

‘What—no, you idiot,’ Bokuto laughs out. ‘It’s just… well… I’ve been doing some thinking and I think I’ve come to a decision about something really big, and um… I kinda need your help.’

‘You have it,’ Kuroo informs him immediately. ‘Always. So what’s eatin’ you?’

Fuck, he feels sick.

_Here goes nothing._

So Bokuto takes in a deep breath and looks Kuroo right in the eye.

‘I wanna play volleyball again. I wanna try out for a team.’

Kuroo’s eyebrows fly into his hairline, eyes widening in shock. But then his mouth stretches slowly into a large grin, one that makes Bokuto’s stomach explode into a thousand, fluttery sensations.

‘Leave it to me, buddy.’

* * *

A wave of something hits Bokuto the moment he steps into the gym. The muted smell of Air Salonpas and the squeak of shoes against polished wooden floors sends him reeling back four years ago to when he had seen the Orange Court in his final year.

(Sends him back to the last time he set foot on an occupied volleyball court before he called it quits.)

Kuroo had been beyond ecstatic at his decision, and the following day at work had seen him on the phone the majority of the time and shooting Bokuto confident smiles that said _just you wait, I’ll find you a team_ . He’d been there to support him when he had broken the news to his kid’s teams in their last training sessions, had wrapped an arm around his shoulders when the kids had wished him the best of luck and made him _promise_ to come back and say hi. He had also seen him off at the station this morning, an act that had nearly made Bokuto cry from just how touched he felt as it had been almost five o’clock and the sun hadn’t reached the horizon yet and there Kuroo had been, yawning like a madman but smiling hugely at Bokuto and gripping his shoulders tightly.

 _I expect a full report first chance ya get,_ had been his parting words. It was amazing how Kuroo hadn’t asked him at all what made him change his mind after all these years, but Bokuto has a feeling he didn’t really need to, especially when Kuroo had added with a wink, _and make sure you get in touch with Akaashi-kun. I think he’d want to hear from you._

The sight of the familiar setup—the net, the stretches happening on the sidelines, the managers talking amongst themselves—should fill him with overwhelming nostalgia, but after his earlier phone call with Akaashi (as per Kuroo’s instructions), he’s in high spirits. Admittedly, Akaashi had sounded shocked when Bokuto informed him that he’d left for Osaka early— _Osaka? Is this for work, Bokuto-san?_ —but after explaining that Kuroo had gotten him an opportunity to try out for a team, Akaashi’s tone had shifted into an excited one.

( _‘You’ve decided to play again? How wonderful! What team are you aiming for, Bokuto-san?’_

(‘Well, Kuroo said that some team called MSBY Black Jackals did tryouts over the weekend. The coach agreed to let some late stragglers try out as well, so that’s where I’m headed.’

( _‘MSBY?_ _I see. Then I wish you the best of luck and I sincerely hope they accept you. I’ve heard it’s a good team._ ’

(‘Really? That makes me nervous!

( _‘You’ll be fine. I promise._ ’) 

So this is how Bokuto finds himself lowering his bag to the floor and unzipping it to search for his kneepads. He slips them on once he locates them, compression sleeves and all (and a smack of nostalgia _does_ hit him in the face at that), and slides on his sneakers. The butterflies that have been going crazy in his stomach subside when his eyes land on a soaring volleyball, its arc perfect as it lands in the hands of someone who appears to be a setter, dressed in a white T-shirt and training shorts ( _another hopeful candidate?_ ) and catapults straight into the palm of an extremely tall, buff-looking man. The resounding _boom!_ as it hits the court makes shivers go up Bokuto’s spine.

_Shit, that was such an awesome spike!_ Adrenaline kicks in and rushes through his limbs, but he manages to catch himself before he bolts over to the setter and begs him for tosses. Instead, he turns towards the wall and starts stretching, making sure to feel the strain in his limbs.

But as he tucks an arm behind his head and grabs onto his elbow to stretch out the muscles, he hears an excited shout bounce off the high walls alongside a few yells of surprise.

‘Bokuto-san! Is that you? Is that really you?’

Swivelling around in alarm, Bokuto drops his arms and searches in the general direction where the voice had come from. The moment he sees him, hair as orange as it had been in high school, his face splits into a huge smile.

‘Holy shit, _Shouyou?_ ’

Hinata shrieks and Bokuto doesn’t think twice as he rushes towards the familiar face, laughing in delight when Hinata jumps into his arms and clings onto him. Bokuto doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate—and holy shit, he’s gotten _big_ —spinning them without a care in the world. Hinata is _there_ and he’s warm and real and he’s crying in his ear _I missed you so much!_ with the volume of a large stereo; and when Bokuto puts him down, there’s a shine in his eyes that mimics the one they possessed back in school.

‘Shouyou—I missed you too, I—’ Bokuto’s not sure where to begin and his cheeks hurt from smiling so hard and his heart is swelling at the sight of Hinata visibly vibrating in joy in front of him. ‘When’d you get back? You said you were still in Brazil when I texted you last week!’

‘I was!’ Hinata’s enthusiasm bursts from all four walls and the ceiling, and the ground shakes under Bokuto’s shoes. ‘I got back a few days ago, though! This is my first training session!’

‘ _Whoa_ , that’s cool!’

‘Right?’ Hinata grabs his hands and shakes them up and down. ‘Hey, hey, are you trying out today? Coach said some people who missed the tryouts on the weekend are coming today!’

Squeezing Hinata’s fingers, Bokuto nods. Hinata is beyond ecstatic, pulling him towards the other end of the court screaming _come on, come on, we gotta stretch together!—oh, and you gotta meet the others, though I think you might know them already—_ and it’s only then that Bokuto notices two other men stretching nearby. Both appear to be very tall, but he can’t quite make out just _how_ tall as they are both on the ground with their legs out. One has a dyed-blond head resting on his shins, wrists resting on the toes of his sneakers, while the other has his chin sitting on his forearms, his torso lying flat against the floor and dark curly hair falling into his eyes.

_Wow, they’re really flexible._ Bokuto swallows and glances down at his stomach. _Hope I don’t keep them back..._

‘Guys, guys!’ Hinata’s shout makes the men raise their heads. ‘You gotta meet my senpai! He’s trying out today!’

Bokuto waves and takes them in: Curly-Hair Guy is sitting upright, Blond-Hair Guy has leaned back on his palms, and the pair wear composed but curious expressions. There’s something familiar about them, and Bokuto racks his brain in an attempt to remember if he’s ever met them before. He knows he’s seen Curly-Hair Guy before, but as he drinks in Blond-Hair Guy, the sound of steady drumbeats and loud jeering echo faintly from the back of his head, the colours of orange-and-black stark against black-and-white under glaring overhead lights and a gleaming court overtaking everything in his mind.

He knows _exactly_ who he is the second the sounds cut off like a sword slicing through the air, and the image of a raised fist against a black banner embroidered with gold lettering presses up against his temple.

‘You!’ Bokuto gasps in realisation. ‘I remember you—you’re that second-year setter from Inarizaki! I watched the game you played against Shouyou’s team at Nationals!’

Blond-Hair Guy raises an eyebrow at him, clearly surprised.

‘Is that so?’ he lets out slowly, rising to his feet. A calculative look flickers across his face, followed by what Bokuto is _certain_ is recognition. ‘Ah. You’re that third-year ace… from Fukuroudani. You were one of the Top Five in the country, weren’t ya?’

Bokuto grins. ‘Yep! That’s me—Bokuto Koutarou!’

He bows, and is pleased when the action is mirrored and a sharp smile forms along Blond-Hair Guy’s lips.

‘Miya Atsumu.’ Jutting a thumb over his shoulder at the other man, who, amidst the conversation, is still stretching, Atsumu adds, ‘And that guy there is Omi-kun.’

‘It’s _Sakusa_ , you moron,’ he hisses, and shifts his blank stare to Bokuto. _Sakusa Kiyoomi,_ Bokuto recalls instantly. _One of the Top Three aces in the country._ ‘Don’t listen to the crap that spills from that mouth. Nothing profound ever comes out of it.’

Atsumu’s cool façade breaks into a vicious sneer.

‘What the fuck, Omi-kun?’ Bokuto gapes at Atsumu, the change in his tone unlike anything he’s heard before: guttural, fast and laced with an accent that’s as confusing as it is fascinating. ‘Ya just met the guy and yer already throwin’ me under the bus? Yer a piece of shit.’

Sakusa ignores the barrage of insults that are raining down upon him, unwavering gaze locked on Bokuto’s face. It’s a little unnerving, but he doesn’t get to dwell upon it when Sakusa murmurs, ‘So… we’re all part of the Monster Generation it seems.’

Bokuto cocks his head to the side. ‘Monster Generation…?’

Huffing loudly, Atsumu aims a last _fuckin’ dick_ at Sakusa and says to Bokuto, ‘Yeah, that’s what they call all us scary players that just happened to go to high school the same time as each other.’ He sends Bokuto a funny look. ‘You been out of volleyball that long? I heard ya didn’t go pro straight outta high school.’

Averting his gaze from Atsumu’s honeyed one, Bokuto nods sheepishly. ‘Yeah. Been a while. Shit happened.’

(What he doesn’t say out loud is the reason why, because stupid young him was too busy being in love with a toxic boy who thought volleyball wasn’t a real job. And stupid young, head-over-heels in love Bokuto agreed with him, choosing instead to pursue a line of jobs he needed so that he could work in an office one day.

(The things he had done for that boy… He tries not to think about it.)

Thankfully, Atsumu doesn’t pry, nodding absently at his answer. Bokuto knows Hinata is sending him a sad look (the only one here who _kind of_ knows the details behind Bokuto’s absence in the volleyball world), and he can sense Sakusa sussing him out, not unlike the way Akaashi had kept a close eye on him when he had watched Bokuto coach his students.

‘Well, what matters now is yer back!’ Atsumu crows, a toothy smile splitting his cheeks. Then he frowns as he contemplates something, curiosity sparking in his eyes. ‘But, y’know, it’s funny—a high school friend of mine mentioned something about his friend tryin’ out today. I wonder if yer that friend.’

Bokuto’s eyebrows fly into his hairline.

‘Oh? Who’s your friend?’

‘Do you know an Akaashi Keiji?’

Something punches him hard in the stomach at the way Akaashi’s name sits on Atsumu’s tongue. What it is, however, Bokuto does not know—what he does know is that it’s climbing towards his lungs and gripping them in a vice, tighter and tighter and he cannot breathe, but _why_ —

It’s not like Akaashi’s his boyfriend, and it’s not like he thought Akaashi doesn’t have friends. But within this world of volleyball? With these people? Have they crossed paths before? If so, why doesn’t Bokuto remember him? Does he remember Bokuto? Fuck, _does_ he remember him—?

‘‘Kaashi,’ he ends up stuttering, desperate to say something so as to not drag out the silence. ‘You know ‘Kaashi?’

‘Huh…’ Atsumu’s mouth pulls down at the corners. ‘Now that’s interesting.’

‘What is?’ Bokuto asks weakly.

‘Wouldn’t have taken you to be the kind he hangs around with—y’know, extrovert. Keiji-kun usually keeps to himself and with other quiet people. He’s better friends with my brother than with me for that exact reason.’

‘Anyone’s better friends with your brother than with you, Miya.’

Atsumu scowls. ‘Omi-kun, shut the fuck up.’ 

‘You know I’m right,’ Sakusa tells him unapologetically.

‘And yet you continue to hang out with _me_ , not ‘Samu,’ Atsumu counters smugly.

‘Not by choice, Miya.’

Atsumu doesn’t argue, but Bokuto notes the arrogant edge to his smile. He’s then crossing the small distance between him and Sakusa, whispering something directly into his ear. Sakusa doesn’t appear to be fazed as Atsumu pulls back, sharp grin widening, but Bokuto can just make out one of his hands curling into a fist at his side. Atsumu cocks an eyebrow at him and moves back to his original place, raising both his arms over his head and interlocking his fingers in a deep stretch.

‘But say, how d’you know Keiji-kun?’ Atsumu asks and Bokuto feels the colour drain from his face.

‘Ohh, yes, please tell us, Bokuto-san!’ Hinata pipes up next to him, hands on his knees as he bends down and up, and down and up…

There’s no way he can tell them how he and Akaashi _really_ met. Unless Akaashi already told Atsumu? Or his brother…? But he can’t know for sure, and he doesn’t want to put Akaashi in an awkward position should the topic come up again— _ahh, fuck, what should I say?_

‘It’s a long story!’ he blurts out (and probably a bit louder than necessary, but he’s being pressured, dammit!).

Atsumu doesn’t say anything, squinting at him instead. Those narrowed eyes stay on him for a drawn-out second and Bokuto feels like he’s in a hospital room, being scrutinised with a huge x-ray machine whose scans are trying to pick out the secret from the depths of his soul. Much to his horror, he thinks the scan worked for Atsumu’s eyes fly wide open and his jaw hits the floor.

‘No way. _You’re_ the guy?’

Bokuto laughs nervously. ‘What guy?’

Atsumu doesn’t enlighten him, but he lets out a shocked gasp.

‘Holy shit—oh, I need to have a _long_ conversation with Keiji-kun next time I see him.’

That doesn’t fill Bokuto with confidence whatsoever. _I don’t know what’s going on, but please forgive me, Akaashi!_

‘Wait, what’s happening?’ Hinata shoots Bokuto a confused look. ‘What does he mean by “you’re the guy”?’

‘Not for your ears, Shouyou-kun,’ Atsumu instructs. ‘You’re too young to know things like that.’

‘Atsumu-san, I’m twenty-one.’

‘Still too young.’

‘Hey—!’

‘Are you idiots going to finish stretching today or are you going to spend training on the benches nursing your ankles because you didn’t fucking stretch them?’

Three pairs of eyes find Sakusa glowering at them, mouth set in a thin line as he straightens from a deep lunge. It’s enough to send them into a series of mirrored stretches, and Bokuto makes sure to definitely stretch his ankles in fear of upsetting Sakusa and missing the tryout because he’s too busy sitting on the bench with not-stretched ankles.

Their hurry to stretch their muscles makes a tiny smile form on Sakusa’s lips, but it quickly disappears when he fixes Bokuto with a calculative look.

‘Official tryouts were on the weekend,’ he states plainly. ‘Why didn’t you show up to those ones?’

‘I didn’t know,’ Bokuto replies as he bends his knee and balances on one leg, hand grabbing his shoe to hold it in place. ‘Actually, I don’t know anything about when tryouts are held and what teams are accepting new players.’

‘But then… how’d you know about the ones today, Bokuto-san?’ Hinata asks, eyes round and shining with interest.

Bokuto shrugs nonchalantly and switches legs. ‘A friend.’

‘Ahh, man’s got connections,’ Atsumu drawls. He blows out a breath and swings his arms out before locking his left across his chest. ‘Do we know ‘em?’

‘I don’t know,’ Bokuto tells him honestly, and turns to Hinata, ‘but you do. Remember Nekoma?’

‘Yeah?’

‘You remember Kuroo?’

‘Kuroo-san helped you?’ Hinata screams. ‘You’re still friends with him, Bokuto-san? That’s so awesome!’

‘Like you’re not still friends with Kageyama-kun,’ Sakusa mutters, rolling his eyes as he goes past them and onto the court, clearly satisfied with their stretching routine.

Hinata pouts at him heavily, mumbling something like _Bakageyama doesn’t count, Sakusa-san_ as he follows him. Bokuto does the same, and senses Atsumu close behind him, rambling about how it’s cool to have such a nice friend to have his back. But then as they reach the centre of the court, Atsumu sighs deeply and cracks his knuckles.

‘But anyway,’ he goes on, waving a flippant hand to end his own conversation topic, ‘lemme make somethin’ real clear to ya, Bokkun.’ Bokuto blinks at him as his expression darkens and his eyes trap Bokuto in a tunnel where those eyes are the only light source. ‘If ya miss any of my sets, don’t blame it on me. It’s yer own fault.’

Bokuto can vaguely hear Sakusa muttering out _pretentious little prick_ and sees Hinata watching them like a tennis ball being smacked between angry racquets; but he shoots Atsumu a furtive grin, and watches the tunnel expand and the light dim.

‘That a challenge, Tsum-Tsum?’ he quips. Bokuto sees Atsumu mouthing _Tsum-Tsum?_ as he turns, and he jogs to the edge of the court as he calls over his shoulder, ‘Do your worst!’

‘Ya cocky bastard—I’m telling Keiji-kun!’

‘Yeah, you go, Bokuto-san!’ Hinata cries. He smacks Bokuto between the shoulder blades as he passes him by. ‘You gotta win so we can play together!’

A fire licks up his arms, slow, warm, but fierce in its grasp: it coils in the pit of his stomach, twists around his neck and wraps around his legs. It’s white hot on the soles of his feet, the flooring hot coals as he hops from foot to foot, eyes trained on the spot he calls home. He says to Hinata with a smile, _just you wait, Shouyou_ , and races over to his throne.

Despite the fact that the hand on the clock hasn’t reached the starting time for tryouts, the four find themselves alone on the court: Sakusa on the opposite side along the net, Atsumu in the centre, Hinata by a cart of volleyballs near the baseline, and Bokuto toeing the white stripe of the left edge. He knows the other team members are watching, and most likely the coach and other candidates as well, but Bokuto doesn’t care about any of them. He stares at Atsumu, the fire transforming into snakes, gliding restlessly through his limbs, itching to attack.

Hinata clears his throat and yells something to Atsumu which Bokuto cannot make out for the surrounding noise switches off, leaving him to pace himself to the sound of his own heartbeat.

A _whoosh_ hits his eardrums and his eyes move briefly from Atsumu to the blue-and-yellow spiralled ball falling towards Atsumu’s open palms. Just as it’s about to land directly into Atsumu’s awaiting fingers, Bokuto moves.

He runs. He swings his arms back. He jumps—

(—people have asked what the view is like from the top. _Is it a blur?_ they ask. _Do you even see the court?_ they ask. Bokuto has never known how to explain it to them, because how does a valley encircled by snowy, craggy hills remotely represent a volleyball court? The mist of the summit clears, the river beyond the mountaintop a clear, speckled mix of dazzling white and blue. Everything is a lush green, the spring season at its peak and all trees laden with their blossoms and fruits. The air is crisp, the sky is open, the path to the stars free to roam. He takes a few steps back and starts running, eyes on the prize the second he leaves the rock beneath his feet—)

—and he flies.

* * *

When Bokuto and Akaashi planned to have dinner together after the tryout following a quick phone call in the middle of the tryout, they agreed that Akaashi would come to Bokuto’s apartment for it. It’s to be as generic as possible, in case it’s meant to be cause for celebration or a time to allow Bokuto to eat his feelings. So when Akaashi buzzed Bokuto’s door around eight o’clock (and thank god they’d scheduled for later in the evening, for the train ride from Osaka had been long and tiring), Bokuto knew he’d be climbing up the stairs apprehensively. 

That apprehension remains locked in the dip of his eyebrows and the nervous tapping of nails on the surface kitchen counter. Although they talk softly amongst themselves—for Bokuto has started to listen to Akaashi when he tells him that he doesn’t mind if Bokuto is the one who’s talking the most—Bokuto is aware of the heavy cloud hovering in the air above their heads; one of Akaashi’s first questions upon entering the apartment with two shopping bags in his hands was whether Bokuto had heard back from the coach.

_Not yet,_ had been the answer. _Sometimes it might take a day or two, sometimes a week. Just gotta wait it out._

Bokuto wishes he can quell Akaashi’s nervousness (but why _he’s_ nervous, he’s not sure) as he rolls up the sleeves of his cotton shirt, grabs a knife from the knife block in front of him, and takes it out on a carrot Bokuto has just finished peeling. Bokuto’s about to tell him off for working while he’s a guest when Akaashi shoots him a look over the top of his glasses.

‘Two sets of hands are better than one, Bokuto-san,’ he tells him, and Bokuto watches him thinly slice one half of the carrot with practiced ease. ‘Besides, you’ve been travelling all day. Let me help.’

Not wanting to argue—and the exhaustion _is_ starting to hit him—Bokuto turns to the pan he’s set on the stovetop, the bottom covered with a thin layer of oil. There’s a hunk of trimmed meat on the chopping board, which Bokuto gently places into the pan; harsh sizzling fills the quiet kitchen, just the sound Bokuto was after. As he grabs a pair of metal tongs, clacking them together a few times, a question he’s been meaning to ask Akaashi whispers itself into existence.

‘Hey, ‘Kaashi,’ he begins, watching the oil bubble around the edge of the piece as he tries to formulate the question into actual words. ‘How d’you know Tsum-Tsum?’

The knife stops with a dull _thud_ on the second chopping board.

‘“Tsum-Tsum?”’ Akaashi asks him, and Bokuto catches confusion residing on his face.

‘Ah, sorry! I meant Atsumu! Miya, right?’ Bokuto amends. ‘He said you were friends. From high school and stuff.’

Realisation overtakes Akaashi’s puzzled expression, and he laughs softly as he returns to the carrots, fishing another one out of the sink.

‘I’m sure he loves being called Tsum-Tsum,’ he says gently, and Bokuto merely shrugs. ‘But to answer your question, I met him through his brother. Osamu-san needed tutoring, and since I was in a top class, the teachers asked if I could help him out. Then Atsumu-san came along because he also needed tutoring, so I ended up with two for the price of one. That was in first year, and after that, they seemed to take a liking to me and we became friends.’

Bokuto nods at this information as he flips the meat onto its other side, drooling at the dark brown colour coating the fried side. _Yum_. Then Akaashi lets out a louder kind of chuckle and shakes his head fondly.

‘Honestly, I think those tutoring sessions were mostly spent either talking about volleyball or me trying to stop them from fighting each other. They claimed they didn’t care about grades, but would come crying to me a few days before a major test. “We needa pass or we’ll be kicked off the team,” they used to tell me.’ Akaashi glances at Bokuto and smiles furtively. ‘Not to mention how disappointed they were in themselves whenever they did manage to fail an exam. Couldn’t look me in the eye at all. And Osamu-san sometimes even tried to bribe me with onigiri to do his homework for him last minute.’

‘Really?’ Bokuto laughs. ‘Can relate, though. I was so scared I’d be forced outta the gym if I didn’t pass my exams, too.’ He grins at Akaashi. ‘Didja accept the bribes, Akaashi? Didja do his homework?’

_‘Kaashi’s a responsible guy_ , Bokuto thinks. _He wouldn’t have._

But Akaashi doesn’t look at him as he says coolly, ‘Yes, I did.’

Bokuto roars with laughter, shocked, clutching at his stomach, and Akaashi’s ears turn pink.

‘Akaashi! I never would’ve guessed!’

‘How could I resist? Osamu-san makes exceptional onigiri, and I promised him I’d be his official taste-tester before he wrote up a hypothetical menu for his future restaurant,’ Akaashi continues in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘And given he now does have his own restaurant, I’d say those efforts were worth it.’

‘You just wanted free onigiri, didn’t ya, ‘Kaashi?’ Bokuto asks him between giggles.

‘Of course not,’ Akaashi rebuts, but the quirk at the corner of his mouth gives the truth away. ‘At the time, that was the only thing I thought Osamu-san was good at, and that being a public menace was Atsumu-san’s strength. Then I saw them play.’

His voice trails off wistfully, eyes set somewhere in the middle of the tiled wall. Bokuto opens his mouth to ask him how the Miya brothers had played, and maybe if he’d played with them (for he desperately wants to know if there’s the slightest chance they’ve met in the past; this is the first time Akaashi has _ever_ talked about himself this much), but a sharp ringtone cuts through the air as his phone vibrates against his leg, causing the question die in his throat. He and Akaashi exchange a weighted look as Bokuto fishes his phone out of his pocket, the caller ID reading _Private Number_. Turning his back on Akaashi, he hits the green button and presses the phone to his ear.

‘Hello?’

There’s a deep voice on the other end of the phone, somewhat familiar, and while it talks, the space around Bokuto morphs into a distorted, foggy mess. All that matters are the words filtering through his ear, but even they take a moment to register. Bokuto doesn’t know what he’s saying as answers to whatever’s being said to him, attention focused on the way his heart rate is increasing with each passing second.

In the end, he hangs up with a soft, ‘Thanks so much for calling. I’ll be there next weekend,’ and merely stares at the cabinet above the sink.

_Holy shit._

His stomach is somersaulting at the speed of an Olympic gymnast, rolling and rolling and jumping into the air, gaining _10, 10, 10_ as a score. His chest flutters with a million sensations—numb, breathless, spikes of red hot heat—and as he turns back to face Akaashi, he sees him wringing his fingers hesitantly.

The reality suddenly crashes into Bokuto, and he lets out a laugh that’s more a breath than anything else. 

‘I did it, ‘Kaashi,’ he whispers. ‘I made it. I’m on the team. I’m gonna play volleyball again.’

Akaashi’s expression is one of pure pride as he crosses the floor to Bokuto, and the way he grips Bokuto’s shoulders and murmurs out _I’m so proud of you, Bokuto-san_ causes him to pull Akaashi into a long and tight hug. Bokuto wants to laugh, to cry, to do _anything_ , but it’s a profound circumstance: Bokuto isn’t raising the roof with his voice or his energy, and Akaashi is the one speaking, praises filling his ear as they embrace.

It’s real. It’s really real. He’s going to play again.

It’s odd, but Bokuto’s eyes start to sting and the space of Akaashi’s neck and shoulder smells like victory.

When they part, Bokuto simply stares at him, as if the answer to _am I dreaming?_ lies within dark blue. He finds it in the stretched lips and the teeth between them, curved to Akaashi’s ears. _No, you’re not dreaming._

He chuckles in disbelief as he tells him, ‘It’s thanks to you, y’know. You encouraged me.’

Akaashi sighs fondly and shakes his head. ‘No, Bokuto-san. I just told you what I thought. You were the one who went out and did it. You listened to what I said, sure, but you followed what your heart wanted.’

Humming pensively, Bokuto mulls the words over. Akaashi’s right, in a way, but he was the one who mentioned playing again in the first place. He’s got to give himself some credit. He tells him so and Akaashi’s expression crumbles into a shy one.

‘Ah, well… in that case, shall we celebrate our success?’ He moves away from Bokuto towards the bags he had brought to the apartment sitting by the fridge. Digging through one of them, he ends up pulling out a clear, green bottle. ‘I bought sake.’ 

He lets a soft laugh pass through his lips as Bokuto immediately reaches for the top cabinet where the glasses sit. They waste no time in pouring out the sake, chinking their glasses together in a cheers. Bokuto cannot talk, cannot think properly even as he downs the first lot of sake—it pools in his stomach alongside the sheer joy that’s jumping up and down. Akaashi’s saying something but Bokuto honestly cannot comprehend a single word, smile large along his mouth and images of him wearing a black jersey with _BOKUTO_ written across the back blooming wildly in his mind’s eye. 

‘Oh, man, I gotta tell Kuroo!’ he crows, wincing as he swallows the third—fifth? Fourth, no third—liberal serve of sake Akaashi has poured him. ‘He’s gonna lose it!’

‘Call him,’ Akaashi tells him. ‘Go on, I don’t mind.’

As his fingers meet the warm backing of his phone, Bokuto’s eyes stay fixed on Akaashi’s face. There’s a sheen to his eyes, the kitchen light transforming dark blue into an ocean, one that possesses lapping waves and a clear, shimmering reflection of the moon. It takes Bokuto a second to realise that Akaashi… looks _excited_.

‘Well, if you’re sure?’ he asks, just to be certain, and at Akaashi’s firm _call him!_ Bokuto finds Kuroo’s contact and dials the number.

_‘Hey, Bokuto, my man,’_ Kuroo’s cool tone greets after the third ring. _‘What’s up?_ ’

‘Kuroo, hey! Bro, you’re never gonna believe this,’ Bokuto says in a single breath. He smiles at Akaashi, who gestures to him to keep going. ‘I, um…’

‘ _What? What is it?’_

‘So tryouts were today, right, and I met so many people—but get this, _Shouyou’s_ there! He’s on the team!’ Bokuto shouts.

_‘Wait, Chibi-chan?_ ’

‘Yeah! And that guy from Inarizaki was there too. Y’know, the one with the crazy setting skills. Miya. And Sakusa Kiyoomi, as well!’

_‘What! No way!’_ There’s a low whistle followed by a disbelieved snort. _‘Shit, looks like the high school days are coming back to us, huh? That’s so bizarre. Of all the people!_ ’ 

‘I know right! But anyway, that’s not important—well it is, but not at the moment—you see…’

Bokuto blows out a short breath and locks eyes with Akaashi again. The words are there at the back of his throat, egging him on to let them loose, to allow them to soar in the skies past his lips—but in the end it’s Akaashi’s encouraging smile that lets him do just that.

‘I just got a call from the coach. I did it, Kuroo. I’m in.’

A short pause settles in from Kuroo’s end from the phone. Then his shocked scream erupts from the receiver, and it is so shrill (and dramatically elongated) that Bokuto has to hold the phone away from his ear. Akaashi’s chuckling under his breath—no doubt being able to hear—and Bokuto is sure he can make out Kenma yelling at Kuroo to quiet the _fuck down, what’s wrong with you? Are you dying?_ in the background.

_‘You’re on the team?’_ Kuroo shrieks. _‘Are you serious? You’re not shitting me? Because if you are, that’s a cruel joke, Bo!’_

Deeming it somewhat safe to return the phone to his ear, Bokuto replies, ‘I’m not shitting ya! You’re talkin’ to the newest member of the MSBY Black Jackals, bro.’

Kuroo descends into another round of screaming, blubbering out broken phrases along the lines of _oh my god, Bo—_ and _babe, babe, he’s on the team, he’s on the fucking team!_ Bokuto’s lungs are about to burst from how hard he’s laughing, from the deliriously joyous vice squeezing around them. It’s beyond surreal, and truly, nothing makes sense, from Kenma’s voice replacing Kuroo’s with a fond _congratulations_ to Akaashi’s expression overflowing with admiration and pride, to the prospect of the future looking a _lot_ better than it did twenty minutes ago, even to the sharp smell of smoke wafting under his nose.

_Wait—smoke?_

_‘Hey, Bokuto, what’s that sound?’_ Kuroo’s back on the line, voice laced with confusion. _‘Is that your smoke detector?_ ’

And sure enough, the telltale, piercing _BEEP, BEEP, BEEP_ of a smoke detector explodes in the kitchen, bringing both Akaashi and Bokuto to the reality unfolding in front of them. Grey smoke billows out from one of the pans sitting on the stovetop—and when a small fire flickers into life, both Akaashi and Bokuto spring into action. Bokuto hurriedly cries into the phone, _bro I’ll call you back, gotta go!_ as Akaashi immediately grabs the lid from a large saucepan sitting near the sink. It falls with a loud clatter as Akaashi all but throws it on top of the flames, and Bokuto has enough sense to dump his phone into his pocket whilst reaching for a tea towel and switching off the burner.

‘‘Kaashi, here!’ Akaashi narrowly misses being hit in the face as Bokuto chucks him a second tea towel. ‘Use it to get the smoke away from the detector!’

And so they begin waving the tea towels at the cloud of smoke dancing around the shrieking machine screwed into the ceiling. Bokuto’s not sure how much time passes by, but his ears are ringing from the relentless beeping coming from above them and he’s sure the smell of burnt meat is going to stay in his nose for three weeks. By the time the beeping stops, Bokuto’s arms are sore and Akaashi’s looking frazzled, his breath short, glasses askew on his nose, and curls sticking out from all sides. 

They simply stare at the mess in front of them: the dirtied inside of the lid as Akaashi gingerly lifts it, the blackened meat, and the lingering wisps of smoke that Bokuto does _not_ want to reach the smoke detector again—it all sinks into the pit of his stomach, along with the unshakable feeling of dread crawling into his chest. 

_I can’t do anything right, can I?_

He chews on his bottom lip, his hands clenching and unclenching. This was supposed to be a night of celebration, one that would show that Bokuto isn’t the same guy from two years ago—someone who could actually go somewhere now, do something for himself. Instead, his kitchen nearly caught on fire and dinner is ruined. The _one_ thing he was in charge of and now it’s like this. 

_My exes were right. I’m a failure._

He slowly turns his head and locks eyes with the man standing next to him, an apology poised on his tongue, ready to see the world beyond his teeth because that’s what you’re supposed to do when you royally fuck up.

A beat passes between them.

And Akaashi laughs.

Bokuto blinks at him as his jaw falls open.

Akaashi has laughed and shown humour before—obviously!—but this is something else entirely. Where there is usually a hand in front of his mouth is instead parted lips; rather than an amused snort or a smug spark in deep eyes, loud (and, quite frankly, piercing) cackles reverberate through the kitchen; and the soft breaths are a cause of trying to catch some air, not an indication of a laugh.

 _Beautiful_ tugs him by the wrist, pulling him towards a redwood door he hasn’t opened since that night at the izakaya. It creaks open ajar just as Akaashi flattens his palms on the counter and fixes Bokuto with a broad grin and dewy eyes. 

‘C’mon, Bokuto-san,’ Akaashi says between giggles, shaking his head and wiping those eyes from under his glasses. ‘Let’s get this cleaned up.’

The statement doesn’t register until a wet tea towel smacks Bokuto in the chest—and is Akaashi _smirking_ at him?—and he fumbles to prevent it from falling to the floor. Akaashi’s got one too, and his passing murmur of _first one to clean this up wins_ as he moves to Bokuto’s other side makes something spike in his blood.

How can he not indulge in the mischievous glint streaking across his face when it replaces thick, raging animosity, or rush to grab the pan before Akaashi does when it replaces annoyed tutting, or freely burst out laughing when they crash into each other when it replaces rolled eyes and flippant hands? 

Never mind that the long day is catching up to him, that his muscles are harbouring a dull ache or that he’d spent the majority of his day on a train—when he’s having as much fun as this, sleep is the last thing on his mind.

They clean the kitchen up in record time, and as Akaashi picks up the knife he had been using, julienning the carrots as he’d done before Bokuto received the call, Bokuto starts to think that maybe things are going to be okay.

Starts to think that, for the first time in his life, everything is exactly where it should be.

* * *

**Bokuto Koutarou [23:15]**

Akaashi!

thanks for being here tonight

and for helping with cleaning up

but i forgot to ask ya!

since you know Tsumu and all,  
did you play volleyball in high school?

**Akaashi [23: 17]**

Of course, Bokuto-san

Thank you for allowing me to share  
this life-changing moment with you

And as for volleyball…. Not in high school,  
no.

But I might as well have given how much  
Atsumu-san and Osamu-san talked about  
it at lunchtime and in tutoring

**Bokuto Koutarou [23:18]**

so formal, Kaashi! there’s no need  
for that please

but whoa, that’s cool

**Bokuto Koutarou [23:19]**

imagine if we managed to play against  
each other! ****

**Akaashi [23:19]**

That would have been an experience

**Akaashi [23:20]**

Did I ever tell you that I almost went to  
Fukuroudani?

**Bokuto Koutarou [23:21]**

WHAT

YOU DIDN’T!?

KAASHI!?

**Akaashi [23:21]**

Oh. Well, I nearly did

Unfortunately, my parents go into a  
situation and my mother had to move to Kobe  
for work and I couldn’t make it to the open day

So I ended up in the local high school there

**Akaashi [23:22]**

Funny how life works, huh?

**Bokuto Koutarou [23:22]**

yeah…

wow, we could’ve been on the same  
team or something.

**Bokuto Koutarou [23:23]**

hey, hey, you would’ve so been my setter!

Bokuto and Akaashi: ace and setter duo

we totally would’ve won against Ichibayashi  
in the finals! ****

**Akaashi [23:24]**

It’s certainly a nice thought

I think we would have made quite the  
partnership

**Akaashi [23:25]**

I’m just disappointed I never got to watch  
you play in high school. I became one of the  
managers when Atsumu-san, Osamu-san  
and myself started our third year

I’m sure you were a star ace, just as you are  
now

**Bokuto Koutarou [23:26]**

Akaashi please

i’m an ok ace

i did my best

i’m just grateful MSBY let me join  
their team since i haven’t trained  
in so long ****

**Akaashi [23:27]**

Hmm

You know, i’s funny, because Atsumu-san  
just mentioned you were a Top Five ace

I’d say that’s more than your best

**Bokuto Koutarou [23:28]**

you’re texting Tsum-Tsum as well!?

Akaaaashi ****

**Akaashi [23:29]**

He’s also said that Fukuroudani hasn’t  
really done as well as it did when you were  
captain

You never told me you were captain

**Bokuto Koutarou [23:29]**

uh yeah, i was

but anyway!

**Akaashi [23:30]**

Subtle, Bokuto-san

Perhaps we should both get some rest

**Bokuto Koutarou [23:30]**

Σ(°ロ°)

i was just gonna say that!

you're a psychic Kaashi! ****

**Akaashi [23:30]**

I assure you, I’m not

**Bokuto Koutarou [23:31]**

sure you are!

but yes

time to sleep

sweet dreams Kaashi! talk to ya  
tomorrow ☆ *:. ｡ .o(≧▽≦)o. ｡ .:* ☆ ****

**Akaashi [23:31]**

Goodnight Bokuto-san

°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

Oh shit

I wasn’t supposed to send that

Please pretend you never saw it

**Bokuto Koutarou [23:32]**

Akaashi

Akaashi you sent me

Akaashi!! ****

**Akaashi [23:33]**

Good/night/ Bokuto-san

**Bokuto Koutarou [23:33]**

is Akaashi Keiji

/embarrassed/ ****

**Akaashi [23:33]**

No

I’ll talk to you in the morning

**Bokuto Koutarou [23:34]**

so cute (❤ω❤)

night Kaashi! ****

 **Akaashi °˖** **✧** **◝(⁰▿⁰)◜** **✧** **˖° [23:34]**

Night

* * *

As summer settles and autumn peaks, September heading into October in an orange-leafed masque, Bokuto settles down in a place he never thought he’d end up.

The move to Osaka had been a venture in itself, with a lot of housekeeping and loose ends to tie up in Tokyo. He had quit his job at the company, said goodbye to his kid’s teams (who made him swear he’d bring them back autographs whenever he came to visit), managed to inform his old high school cohort that he was officially going pro (Konoha had cried over the phone no matter how much he tried to deny it), _and_ had found a place near the club building. 

It had taken a week or so to move all his things into his new place, but with Kuroo’s, Kenma’s (yes, even Kenma had chipped in some physical labour) and Akaashi’s help, Bokuto’s apartment had been furnished in the space of a few days.

(Never mind the boxes and the still-full crates of clothes… he’ll deal with those later…)

And to top it all off, his new team has been more than amazing. He’s become fast friends with Atsumu and he’s slowly making progress with Sakusa; their captain has been nothing but amazing, caring, wonderful, showing Bokuto around Osaka in between practices (sometimes joined by Atsumu who is adamant to show off his hometown— _c’mon, Bokkun, Kobe’s not that far! I’ll take ya on the weekend, okay?_ ) and helping him settle; and Inunaki, their world-class libero, has been determined to get Bokuto to experience the nightlife and go through their ultimate newbie ritual of karaoke and three rounds of sake.

Tomas and Barnes have been harder to talk to, their accents thick and, at times, impossible to understand, but Bokuto’s become friends with them, too. Between scribbled out phrases in both Japanese and English, Bokuto’s learned a few things about their international players: Barnes is a good drinker and possesses a booming laugh that makes Bokuto’s heart sing, which (according to Barnes) are quintessential Australian traits; and Tomas, though on the quieter side, is an absolute sweetheart, always making sure Bokuto and the others are staying hydrated and nourished, and the only one who seems to be able to reign in Inunaki in any situation.

( _It’s part of my European charm, apparently_ , he had said through shaky kanji and accented English. _Seems to work, so I’ll keep doing whatever it is I’m doing._ )

Yet even with his new friends, Bokuto found saying goodbye to his old ones is one of the hardest things he’d ever done. Kuroo had been adamant in not saying goodbye, but rather _see you later,_ Kenma had opted for a simple hug as a means to hide dewy eyes, and Akaashi had left with a weighted _I’ll see you tomorrow,_ leaving behind a very confused Bokuto in the process.

(Bokuto later found that what he meant by it when, the next morning, he got a video call from Akaashi. The morning sun created a halo behind him as he held the camera at a low angle so as to not crash into anyone while walking towards his office building. Bokuto couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.)

Keeping in touch hasn’t been as hard as Bokuto thought it would be, most nights spent either talking to Kuroo and Kenma or to Akaashi—sometimes both. Bokuto had found out nearly a week into his new routine that Kuroo had _finally_ proposed, and their following video call had been mostly Bokuto and Kuroo screaming at each other while Kenma smiled giddily in the background. The date for an engagement party has been set for mid-October, to which Bokuto promised— _cross my heart_ —that he’d be there and help plan.

_(‘You did promise to let me loose, bro.’_

_(‘Yeah, I know. But that was before Osaka.’_

_(‘Osaka’s_ not _going to stop me. I’ll plan everything from here, don’t worry!_ ’

_(‘Why did I think otherwise? Of course, you will! But really… thanks, Bo.’_

_(‘Don’t mention it. My pleasure.’_ )

So amongst party planning, training and learning all the corners that make up Osaka, Bokuto hasn’t had a single moment to feel sorry for himself, or even consider any bad thoughts. And why would he? He feels great!

And tonight—the night before the engagement party Bokuto has so lovingly arranged—is no different as Bokuto and Akaashi stare at each other through the screen, Akaashi’s head against his pillow and nose void of glasses, and Bokuto sitting at his desk in his bedroom. This has become a nightly occurrence, talking about their days and whatever comes to mind (and if he had to count, maybe Bokuto has been in touch with Akaashi more often than he’s been in touch with Kuroo and Kenma). Not that he’d tell anyone, but Bokuto looks forward to these moments where he and Akaashi can just talk to one another without any qualms, can open up to each other about anything and everything.

So far, they’ve been discussing what they’ve gotten up to today— _Udai-san is very close to the end with_ Zom’bish _now… even though he said that several months ago_ —when Bokuto gets thrown in for a bit of a reality check. It’s funny how it comes at a moment like this, but he’s known Akaashi for many months now, and that night they’d had together is now a faint recollection. He tells Akaashi this when he finishes speaking, who merely chuckles amusedly and says _yes, funny how time flies_.

That somehow shifts their conversation to past experiences and former partners and lost opportunities, and the next thing Bokuto knows is he’s detailing everything that has happened to him from the moment he’d stepped foot out of high school. He realises midway through that he’s never actually mentioned to Akaashi his misgivings, and is about to apologise when Akaashi shakes his head and gestures for him to continue.

And he does.

‘—so there you have it,’ Bokuto finishes after a while with a tight smile. ‘My illustrious history of shitty partners and my short love life.’

‘ _I’m sorry you had to go through that, Bokuto-san_ ,’ Akaashi tells him, and even with the grainy image, Bokuto can see a flash of hurt cross his face, ‘ _and thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.’_

‘Yeah, well… it is what it is,’ Bokuto says softly. ‘I felt like I owed ya the truth. Wanted ya to know why it took me so long to get back into this, I guess.’

_‘You don’t owe_ me _anything._ ’ Akaashi’s voice is firm, final, and Bokuto swallows thickly. _‘Please remember that. What matters is that you believe in yourself now. Or at least you’re on the road to doing so. I understand from what Kuroo-san told me at our first dinner together that you were quite the confident guy back as a teenager. I’d like to see that version of you one day.’_

Gasping loudly, Bokuto slams his hands on his thighs and yells, ‘So he _did_ interrogate you! Akaashi! I’ll kill him, I swear—’

A loud laugh bubbles from Akaashi’s throat, crackly and full of static.

_‘Bokuto-san, I promise you, it’s fine!’_ Gentle smile forming along his lips, Akaashi snuggles further into his pillow and gazes fondly at Bokuto through the screen. _‘Now you can prove to your ex that volleyball_ is _a job and one you are quite good at.’_

‘Yeah…’ Bokuto begins slowly, unable to fight the grin tugging at his mouth. ‘Yeah, I am, aren’t I? Take that, Hiroto!’

_‘Damn right.’_

Chuckling at Akaashi’s bluntness, Bokuto’s eyes nearly pop out of his head when he notices the time.

‘Shit, I’ve been talking for ages!’ Bokuto cries. ‘Sorry ‘Kaashi, I didn’t let ya talk about your past that much…’

_‘Another time,_ ’ Akaashi promises, and that alone makes Bokuto grin. _‘I trust you, too, you know? I’d like you to know.’_ Bokuto’s heart races at the confession, but before he can say anything about it, there’s a sigh closely followed by a sleepy groan. ‘ _But it’s late. I’ll see you at the party tomorrow?_ ’

Seeing Akaashi’s hopeful expression peek out from the edge of the camera makes something jump in his gut—excitement, joy, a pinch of nervousness—and he nods hurriedly in response.

‘Yeah, ‘course!’ he tells him. ‘I’ll be by your side the whole time! You’ll be so sick of me by the end of the night.’

_‘I very much doubt that,_ ’ is all Akaashi says on the matter, and doesn’t give Bokuto the chance to react as he bids him a soft _goodnight_. Bokuto has enough time to say the same, along with a hushed _sweet dreams, ‘Kaashi_ before the video cuts out and the hang-up tone rings in his ears.

It doesn’t take him long to get into bed after that, body weightless as it hits the mattress, the cause being the plushness of it and Akaashi’s _I trust you_ going around his mind on repeat.

* * *

That night, he dreams.

He dreams of a secluded park area, a picnic table shadowed by the overarching branches of a dark pink plum blossom tree, and a laden picnic basket held by Akaashi as they both walk towards the wooden table.

He dreams of sunshine speckled over dark eyes and even darker hair, of a secret smile he’s never seen before, but wishes he can see over and over again.

He dreams of a familiar corridor, encased in white wall lights, of an ajar door leading into a room with manga posters and a paper-strewn desk. He doesn’t blink when gentle hands smooth over his cheeks, soft, full of adoration, and doesn’t flinch when Akaashi leans in and—

That night, at five in the morning, Bokuto wakes up with a gasp, sweat dripping down his forehead, breathless, and with Akaashi’s kiss lingering on his lips and disappointment spreading through his chest.

* * *

The party is in full swing by the time Bokuto arrives on the doorstep to Kuroo’s and Kenma’s apartment.

Fairy lights hang along the picture rails, casting the room in a pale yellow glow and everyone’s outfits, a mix of work suits and culottes and tight jeans and plunged V-necks. There is at least one drink in each person’s hand, along with the main dining table—where he had shared so many dinners with his friends over the years—filled to the brim with food. _Okay, it’s looking good so far,_ he thinks, grinning to himself rather smugly. _So much for it being hard to plan outside of Tokyo!_

Bokuto sees his favourite people immediately, surrounded by a small group of people. He whistles to get their attention, and nearly jumps in joy at the looks of delight that overtake their features when they see him. Greetings are exchanged and hugs initiated, and Kuroo repeatedly thanks him for all his hard work (and for not going _too_ crazy with the preparations). Bokuto demands to see which ring Kuroo had ended up choosing, only to receive a roll of the eyes from Kenma— _of course you two went browsing together_ —and shows Bokuto the silver band wrapped snugly around his finger.

A mix of emotions explode in Bokuto’s chest—for god’s sake, his friends are getting _married!_ —and they only explode further when he sees Akaashi’s face pop up behind Kuroo’s shoulder, unmarred by pixels and scratchy audio. He thinks he finally understands what is meant by _absence makes the heart grow fonder_ as Akaashi smiles hugely at him. It also doesn’t help that Akaashi immediately sends Bokuto reeling back into reliving his dream, but he (unsuccessfully) shoves it aside when Akaashi moves around Kuroo and wraps his arms around Bokuto in a tight hug.

Akaashi’s hugs have always been warm, homely even, ones Bokuto wishes would last forever, but he is sure to keep this one short in fear he caves and straight up kisses Akaashi like they had done in his dream. And while he has managed to fulfil his volleyball dream, this is one dream that cannot ever become a reality in fear of ruining what they had built over several months.

If he keys into Bokuto’s reluctance, Akaashi doesn’t say anything, nor does any recognition show on his face. Instead, he indicates with his head to the kitchen, a silent question if Bokuto wants a drink. They make small talk as they move straight there, giggling amongst themselves as Akaashi fills him in what has happened so far, including the story of a tall Japanese-Russian being surrounded by adoring fans.

Once he has a beer in his hand, Bokuto mingles with the crowd, catching up with some former Nekoma members he hasn’t seen in ages— _Yaku-san! I can’t believe you made it from Russia, this is so exciting!_ —as well as his former colleagues— _Goya-san! Fujiwara-kun! Long time, no see, how are you both?_ But somewhere at the back of his mind is the niggling thought that he and Akaashi are sharing a space and he is seconds away from locating him and pulling him into the one bedroom this apartment has.

And that’s how he finds himself out on the balcony about an hour into the party, breathing in a large amount of fresh air as he drops down into the nearest wicker chair. It hits him pretty quickly just how dark it’s gotten, the buildings across the street a series of lit and unlit windows, and the moon high up in the night sky, white colour in a crescent.

Yes, out here Bokuto can relax and make his brain shut up for a few minutes.

Unfortunately, it kicks into gear about thirty seconds later, and Bokuto groans in defeat.

In all honesty, he hasn’t thought much about the Akaashi situation as a whole, and perhaps that has what made this particular situation his downfall, but Bokuto has been certain that his friendship with Akaashi is just that: a _friendship_. But then, he supposes, perhaps this is one of those circumstances where, upon retrospection, friendship hasn’t been on the cards for a while.

Bokuto thinks back to all their outings, their phone calls and video chats, and nearly slaps himself on the forehead.

How could he have been so blissfully ignorant?

All the signs are there. Every, single, one.

Bokuto’s been in love before, has thrown himself into relationships with beautiful people who possessed caring hands and adoring gazes. But they hadn’t been caring hands or adoring gazes, rather forceful grips and spiteful sneers.

But Akaashi…

He recalls the panic he’d felt at the implication of being anything more than friends, and he thinks how strange it feels to be feeling it again only mixed in with the desperate need to throw himself into Akaashi’s arms and call it a day.

There’s no denying it. He really, _really_ , wants—

‘Bokuto-san?’

Jolting slightly in his seat, Bokuto turns half a head to the door to see Akaashi standing by his chair, glass held loosely in his hands and expression quizzical.

‘‘Kaashi!’ Bokuto gestures vaguely to the area. ‘Just needed some air.’

Nodding in acknowledgement, Akaashi chews on his bottom lip and darts his eyes over Bokuto’s face. It takes a raised eyebrow from Bokuto for him to let go and point to the chair sitting next to Bokuto’s.

‘May I sit with you?’ he asks.

‘Of course!’ Bokuto tells him, looking at him strangely as he sinks into the seat. ‘You don’t needa ask, ‘Kaashi.’

‘You look… lost in thought,’ Akaashi clarifies. ‘I didn’t want to disturb you if you wanted to be alone.’

_God damn you and your sharp brain, Akaashi._

There are a lot of things Bokuto can tell Akaashi, except the truth. He can provide more detail on yesterday’s practice, for one, or tell him about the bubble tea he’d tried on the weekend near Inunaki’s place.

But this is Akaashi and Bokuto wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he kept this from him any longer than necessary. Better just get it out in the open. 

‘Can I be honest with you?’

‘I’d prefer it.’

Bokuto shoots him a half-smile and leans back in the wicker chair, eyes settling on the lit-up cityscape before him. The words thicken his tongue, making it a useless dead weight in his mouth; he can feel Akaashi’s curious gaze on him, attempting to pick apart the meaning behind his sudden silence, and Bokuto wants nothing more than to succumb to those deep eyes and escape reality and rational thought and this _stupid_ tongue which won’t let him say what’s on his mind. That sounds like a much better way to spend time.

What makes it loosen in the end is a hefty swig of his beer and Akaashi’s soft call of his name.

‘Sometimes I think about what could’ve been,’ Bokuto begins. Condensation pools at his fingertips, cool and slippery yet somewhat grounding. ‘Y’know… if I had gone pro after high school—or even if I hadn’t and I just dumped Hiroto’s selfish arse in the gutter where it belongs. If I hadn’t dated Megumi and gotten cheated on because I wasn’t good enough for her… maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe I’d be different.’

He risks glancing at Akaashi, only to balk at the overwhelmingly sympathetic look on his face. There’s an opening for him to speak, to tell Bokuto that his thoughts are pathetic and he shouldn’t waste his time thinking such things—but it’s one he doesn’t take, choosing to remain silent and to keep his eyes trained on Bokuto. It’s enough for Bokuto to suck in a sharp breath and let out the one thought that has been consuming him all night from the moment he had stepped foot into this apartment.

‘And maybe when we… and I had taken you up on your offer, and stayed the night because for the first time in my life, I felt safe in a stranger’s place… maybe we could’ve been like them by now.’

Choosing to look over his shoulder and through the glass doors, Bokuto catches sight of Kuroo and Kenma standing side by side in the living room, expressions full of exuberance and adoration as they stare at each other. It makes the vivid image from last night’s dream burst into existence without his permission, Kenma and Kuroo replaced with Akaashi cupping his cheeks, his lips sweet as they kiss his. Heat cradles his chest, spreading over his skin like wildfire—it clogs his throat, makes his eyes sting and his heart sob because _shit_ , he wants this more than anything else he’s ever wanted in his life. He said he was done with relationships, done with being cast aside like the torn-up rag he’s become—but then Akaashi just had to come in with a sewing box and gentle hands, taking the fragile, fraying edges of his resolve and patching them up with a patience not even angels possess.

It all seems so real that Bokuto forgets for a short moment that Akaashi is not his, and that they do not have what Kuroo and Kenma have. What he would give to push away the nagging, gnawing feeling of being worthless and undeserving of anything good and fall into Akaashi’s arms, to reimburse the time lost between now and that one night which changed everything, to reignite the flame that had sparked into being the moment Akaashi had locked eyes with his. 

And still Akaashi has not said a word and the silence is unbearable and Bokuto cannot—will not—stand for it. He blames the alcohol, always does, for the way it makes everything he’s been hiding behind a cracked mask pour from the cliffs and into the abyss. He’s better than this. He’s better at pretending that everything he’s been through is because of who he is as a person.

He’s better—

‘Am I a coward, Akaashi?’ Bokuto chokes out, and he sets his eyes on the bottom of the balcony above them in a desperate move to quell the tears threatening to escape. ‘Should I have just—fuck, should I have just done it? Just sucked it up and moved on? Just stopped being a baby and fucking given myself to you like any other person would? Just—’

Time stops, the world stops, the birds stop, the party inside stops when Akaashi’s fingers wrap around Bokuto’s wrist. They have forgone their usual tenderness in favour of a vice grip, and it causes the following words to crumble in Bokuto’s throat. He should know better than to look directly into Akaashi’s face, but he does it anyway and nearly gasps. There are tears lining Akaashi’s lashes, eyes screaming all things broken but warm and _understanding_ and Bokuto trembles at the magnitude of it all.

‘No,’ is all Akaashi says, firm, final.

Covering the top half of his face with his free hand, Bokuto breaks. He can’t bear to look at Akaashi right now, or allow him to see how he cries. He doesn’t cry often, if ever, and the only people who have ever caught him crying have been his parents, his older sisters, Kuroo and Kenma, and that is already too many people. But with the way Akaashi gently releases his wrist and rubs soothing circles over his shoulders, letting out soft shushes and _it’s okay_ 's, Bokuto chokes out a sob because _fuck_ he doesn’t deserve Akaashi.

After a few minutes, Bokuto runs his wrist over his eyes and stutters out an apology. Akaashi huffs disapprovingly, tells him there’s no need to say sorry and squeezes the muscle in his shoulder.

There’s a pause.

‘I’m glad you didn’t,’ Akaashi decides to murmur, and Bokuto zeros in on his fingers as they pull at each other. ‘Dive straight in, that is. I worry about being… emotionally constipated for some people, especially those I have more than a friendly interest in. I was relieved when you made it clear that we could be friendly with each other, at most. I could breathe. I could heal at the same time as you. The last thing I wanted was to push us both into something we could very well regret in the future, and all because of what, exactly? So we’re less lonely? To have someone else to rely on for self-worth? For the sake of intimacy and nothing else? So no, Bokuto-san, I don’t think you’re a coward for thinking about yourself and your own mental health instead of going straight into a relationship. I think you’re very brave for taking that step back. Most people wouldn’t have been able to do the same… myself included.’

All Bokuto can do is gape at him, unable to believe what he just heard. But Akaashi isn’t one to lie, having been honest with him from the day they met, so it has to be true.

Then it hits him, and he feels the bottom of his stomach drop to the balcony floor.

‘That’s why you texted me the next day, right?’ he croaks. ‘That… that was your step back.’

Akaashi nods and Bokuto lets out a breathy _ohhh_.

‘I ended a long-term relationship about three months before we met,’ Akaashi explains. ‘It was… beyond detrimental, to say the least. A lot of awful things were exchanged between us, some I never want to repeat aloud.’

He trails off, coughing slightly as he averts his gaze. Bokuto doesn’t say anything, choosing to gently place his fingers on top of Akaashi’s hand. He doesn’t look down at the touch, eyes focused on the city beyond the balustrade, but the way he shifts his hand to squeeze Bokuto’s says more than enough. Neither of them pick up the conversation for a moment, merely taking in the cityscape and seeking solace in their joined hands.

‘I thought I was ready,’ Akaashi ends up whispering, only to laugh humourlessly. ‘Turns out I wasn’t, and neither were you. So I wanted to fix things before they got out of hand.’

‘You never told me that,’ Bokuto says quietly, meeting Akaashi’s stare as it returns to his face. ‘I mean… not that you had to. I didn’t… I’m sorry, I’ve been whining about my—’

Akaashi’s eyes go round in horror.

‘No, Bokuto-san, please,’ he interrupts him hurriedly, hand once again finding Bokuto’s wrist of the hand holding his, ‘ _please_ don’t apologise. Me having a bad experience does not mean that yours are not as important. Both situations _utterly_ suck and both have made us question ourselves as people. While I’ve moved on from that relationship and have been able to reroute and try again, I know others are not like that. Others need more time to bounce back… like you.’

‘Like me,’ Bokuto repeats softly.

‘And that is _okay_.’ Akaashi squeezes his wrist once before letting go. ‘It’s okay to take longer than other people, especially if you’ve gone through multiple shitty situations one after the other. What matters at the end of the day is that you are comfortable in your own skin.’

‘Are you?’ Bokuto asks. ‘Comfortable in your own skin?’

‘Yes,’ Akaashi answers instantly. ‘I am. Are you?’

_Am I?_

Three answers come to mind: _yes_ , _no_ , and _kinda_ . _Yes_ sounds wrong, so it’s not that one, for sure. If it were, he wouldn’t be thinking about any of this in the first place. _Kinda_ sounds promising, but other than the fact that he’s back in volleyball and getting back into shape (plus some), there’s nothing else to suggest he’s content with what lies under his skin. _No_ sounds too harsh, leaving little room for the progress which he _has_ made in the past couple of months. It’s by no means perfect or even close to perfect, but it has been progress nonetheless, for Bokuto believes he is not the same person he was two years ago. Which leaves him with—

‘Not yet,’ he whispers. He sighs through his nose and looks at Akaashi. ‘But I’m getting there, I guess. Slowly.’

Akaashi smiles and Bokuto feels one tug at the corners of his mouth.

‘Slowly,’ Akaashi murmurs back, and holds out his hand, palm facing up. ‘We’ll do it slowly together, then?’

Though it comes out as a question, Bokuto’s learned to read Akaashi’s supposed questions as statements. But he nevertheless places his hand on top of Akaashi’s, revelling in its solidity, the one real thing that makes sense amongst all the rest of the jumbled chaos in his head. 

‘Together,’ he states, and adds, ‘but if it gets too much, feel free to let go, okay? Don’t worry yourself sick over nothing.’

There’s a snort and Bokuto turns to see Akaashi shaking his head fondly.

‘How is it you are so good at taking care of others’ needs but won’t spare time for your own?’ he muses.

Bokuto merely shrugs.

‘Guess seeing other people happy makes me happy, too,’ he says simply. ‘It’s always been that way.’

‘Doesn’t have to be.’

Bokuto doesn’t reply to that, choosing to gaze out beyond the balustrade and into the sky. He studies the assortment of faint stars blinking in and out of existence for a total of three seconds before he’s focusing on the feeling of Akaashi’s thumb stroking the skin of his hand.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Akaashi asks, and Bokuto sucks in a breath.

‘You,’ he says honestly.

Akaashi laughs. ‘More specifically?’

Looking at him (and slightly regretting it because Akaashi is just _too_ handsome), Bokuto breathes out, ‘Kissing you. I know I shouldn’t be but… I am.’

Akaashi’s expression is blank, and Bokuto wants to chomp down on his tongue lest it never let out such stupid words again.

‘I’ll indulge you in one,’ is what Akaashi says to him and his blood freezes. He doesn’t get to oppose the offer when Akaashi leans in until they’re a hair’s breadth apart, and it takes him a few seconds to understand that Akaashi’s waiting for _him_ to initiate it.

_Just one,_ he thinks before closing the gap and gasping.

Admittedly, the kisses Bokuto had shared with Akaashi that night after the izakaya had been the best he ever had, worlds better than any he’d had with his former partners. But _this—_ how could they possibly get _even better?_

His dream had only given him a slight taste, a brief recollection of the kisses which had made up the post-coital farewell between strangers. Even though Akaashi’s hands aren’t on his cheeks and they aren’t standing outside his apartment door, there’s a fire raging in Bokuto’s belly. There’s no desperation fuelling it, no hurried pace or need to escalate it to something akin to fireworks.

There’s no need for any of that when Bokuto’s drowning in the sensation.

It’s almost lazy, like they’re the only two people existing in this moment, in this space; they’ve got all the time in the world to map out the seas and the land borders and the time zones. It lasts for only a few seconds, but Bokuto’s body seems to think that it’s not enough when he presses their lips together again; he’s delighted when Akaashi doesn’t object, who sighs and relaxes even further into the action.

Fuck, _fuck_ , what Bokuto would give to live the rest of his life like this? Calm, at peace, kissing someone he’d give his heart to willingly and _know_ that it won’t be trodden on. But the chains around it tighten—a warning—and Bokuto indulges in a few more before he pulls away slightly from Akaashi.

Akaashi’s eyes remain closed, lashes long over the tops of his cheeks. It sends Bokuto hurtling back to the only time they had shared a bed, with moonlight splashing over his skin and hair messy over his forehead.

But then Akaashi muses against his mouth, ‘I counted four,’ his tone light and Bokuto lets out a sheepish laugh.

‘Sorry…’

‘Don’t be.’ A small smile graces his lips. ‘But no more until we’re both ready for something more.’

Bokuto grins and leans back. ‘Okay, ‘Kaashi. Sounds like a plan.’

Akaashi winks at him and kisses his cheek. He only smirks at Bokuto’s spluttering— _what happened to no more?_ —before he glances over his shoulder and looks into the main room through the glass door.

‘I think we should return to the party,’ Akaashi says wisely, albeit with a displeased scowl scrunching his nose. 

Laughing gently, Bokuto starts to get up and offers Akaashi a hand; he takes it wordlessly, and Bokuto agrees with him as they move towards the balcony doors. Their handhold breaks as soon as they step inside, Akaashi muttering something about needing another drink and Bokuto watches him as he heads straight towards the kitchen. Before he can follow him, there’s a hand on his arm, pulling him towards the corner of the room. He looks up and sees Kuroo’s messy hair.

‘Kuroo, hey!’ He frowns at Kuroo’s serious façade as they come to a stop, so unbecoming on a night where they’re celebrating his and Kenma’s happiness. ‘What’s with the face? Everything okay?’

Kuroo clears his throat, seriousness forming into uncertainty, and bends down towards Bokuto’s ear, ‘I saw you two. Are you…?’

‘Huh?’ Realisation creeps in and he sighs. ‘Oh… nah. Not yet, anyway. We just had a long talk. It felt right.’

‘Uh huh.’ Squeezing Bokuto’s shoulder, Kuroo asks knowingly, ‘So what’s stopping you from having anything more? You’re clearly into him, and he’s totally into you.’

‘Just… need to be comfortable in my own skin again.’

The look Kuroo gives him is one of scarily deep understanding, and the following pat on his shoulder reflects that knowledge as he moves past to assume his designated spot next to his fiancé. He catches Akaashi’s enlightened gaze as he wanders out of the kitchen and smiles at him; he receives one in return over the top of a glass filled with clear liquid, and Bokuto’s sure Akaashi would have revealed more in his expression if it weren’t for one of Bokuto’s former colleagues striking up a conversation.

With deep revelations come deeper considerations, and now that Bokuto knows of Akaashi’s turmoils, the desire to hold him, to protect him from the shit the world has to offer, to open his heart again and _love_ him, to let him in and say _fuck you_ to the hold his exes still have on him, is too strong to ignore.

But ignore it he does as he turns towards the happy couple and starts tapping against his bottle to gain the attention of everyone in the room.

‘That’s right,’ he yells over the excited chatter, ‘it’s speech time!’

Kuroo groans dramatically and Kenma looks like he’s ready to run. Bokuto’s lost Akaashi somewhere in the crowd, but he swallows down the rock forming in his throat and smiles at his high school friends.

_Please don’t think badly of me._

* * *

Over the past few months, Bokuto has learned of the truly chaotic nature of being in the locker room with the rest of the members who make up the MSBY Black Jackals. And perhaps he’s partially responsible for contributing to it, because he cannot say no to a challenge from Atsumu or disappoint his cheering disciple that is Hinata, but the majority of the team add to the trouble in their own ways no matter how much they deny it.

(Inunaki-san is particularly at fault here). 

And this cold November morning is no exception as they move around the locker room within the Sendai City Gymnasium. Perhaps it has everything to do with Hinata playing his first official game out of high school against his former rival—now deemed “close friend” (as if they’re fooling anyone, Bokuto thinks)—or perhaps it has everything to do with Atsumu’s sheer awe of Northern Japan, or perhaps it has everything to do with Sakusa’s inane need to seek out Ushijima Wakatoshi the moment they enter the stadium, but the energy level within the locker room is beyond their average level of six.

(And perhaps it has everything to do with Bokuto, like Hinata, playing his first official match since his final year of high school. Perhaps it’s a mix. All Bokuto knows is that he needs to seriously buy Meian several drinks after the game tonight).

The noise spills out of the closed doors and into the main court, Bokuto is sure of this: Inunaki-san is screeching at the top of his lungs about his lost jersey ( _I need the white one, not the black one! I’m the libero, for fuck’s sake_ ); Tomas is huddled in the corner with a hand over his ear and expression twisted painfully as he tries to speak—yell—into the phone pressed up against his other ear; Meian is nowhere to be seen, but Bokuto has an inkling he’s outside apologising for the racket his team is making; Hinata is running to and from the main doors, grabbing something from his bag each time he passes it by—his shoes, his kneepads, his jersey, his shorts (yes, in that order)—and chanting _I will beat him, I will beat him, I will beat him_ ; Sakusa, like their captain, has disappeared out of the main room, having locked himself in the singular bathroom cubicle the locker room possesses; and Atsumu is—

‘Ah, Bokkun!’ he yells, his voice the loudest over the others in the room. ‘Yer boyfriend’s here!’

Throwing Atsumu a funny look—who’s rummaging through his bag for his jersey, visibly shivering from the cool winter air filtering through the cracks—Bokuto glances over his shoulder and catches sight of a familiar body standing in the doorway.

Akaashi lifts a hand and waves, slight smile splitting his lips, and Bokuto’s heart soars. He rushes over to him, crying out his name and scooping him into a much needed hug, and is delighted when Akaashi reciprocates, arms tightening around his back.

‘Hello, Bokuto-san,’ is murmured into his ear, and Bokuto thinks to himself that it has been _too_ long since he’s had that voice speak to him in person.

( _It’s only been a month since the party,_ a little voice tells him in his head. _You sure miss him, don’t ya? Just suck it up and date him already._

( _Shut up,_ he argues.)

Bokuto pulls back and grins at him. ‘You came…’

‘Of course,’ Akaashi says in a soft tone. ‘Wouldn’t have missed it for anything.’

‘Yeah…’ Taking a step away from him and looking down at his shoes, Bokuto asks, ‘For Tsum-Tsum, right?’

At that, Bokuto feels Akaashi squeeze his arm and, upon lifting his head, sees him send him an almost stern look.

‘For him,’ he states, ‘and for you.’

The amount of joy that sprouts in his chest just from the affirmation that Akaashi wants to see him as much as he wants to see his high school friend shouldn’t be enough to mow over a tower of men the size of Oliver Barnes. But it is, and as a means to contain the feeling from escaping his chest, Bokuto tries to manifest it into a wide grin. Yet with great highs come great lows, and as the sudden crushing feeling of failure that’s been following him the moment he’d stepped foot on the coach to Sendai comes back tenfold, Bokuto chews on his lip and averts his gaze from that infinite gaze he wishes he can lose himself in.

‘I’m, um. I’m kinda nervous, though…’ he admits softly, brushing the palms of his hands against his shorts.

Akaashi frowns at him. ‘Whatever for?’

Blowing out a breath, Bokuto throws his hands in the air and states forlornly, ‘It’s just—I haven’t played an official match in so long, and last one I did, we lost. What if I hold them all back, ‘Kaashi? What if I bring them down?’

Voice cracking at the end, Bokuto clears his throat and looks over behind him at his team, watching them flounder around the locker room for who knows what. He blinks, and the lockers morph into shelves filled with black shoes, folded pants and stiff shirts, the middle space filled with Inunaki’s rage-induced pacing, Tomas’ twisted lips, and the chaotic veneer of the other members forming into shocked expressions and angry voices echoing off poster-tacked walls.

He swallows thickly.

(‘ _What do ya mean you’re not accepting the scout offer, Bokuto? Are you fucking insane? This is your future!’_

(‘ _I just am.’_

( _‘It’s because of your boyfriend, isn’t it? That dude’s bad news.’_

( _‘Honestly, if he hadn’t been there in the stands staring at ya during the Ichibayashi match, we totally coulda won.’_

( _‘Komiyan, you don’t bad mouth someone’s boyfriend when they’re in the same room! Especially after we’ve lost a fucking match… which is_ not _Bokuto’s fault!_

(‘ _But he’s a dickhead! Bokuto, how can you stand it? He’s taking you away from your most favourite thing in the world!’_

( _‘I love him.’_

( _‘More than volleyball?_

(No.

( _‘Yeah.’_ )

He doesn’t want to disappoint anyone like that ever again, and the thought alone makes his lungs fill with water.

‘Bokuto-san.’ The lungs fill with air, and Bokuto’s drawn back to Akaashi’s face; he stiffens the moment Akaashi’s finger lands in the middle of his chest. ‘I can say that you won’t hold them back, but for you to believe that statement, you need to look in here. The answer lies there. And if it means anything,’ he adds, taking a step back from Bokuto, ‘I’m rather excited to see you play.’

The furious tones vanish, softening from jagged spikes into a clear ocean on a summer day.

_O-Oh… well, this changes everything!_

‘I’ll play awesomely just for you, Akaashi!’ Bokuto blurts out.

Akaashi lets out a laugh, shaking his head. ‘Don’t play for me, Bokuto-san. Play for yourself.’ He slaps a strong hand on Bokuto’s upper arm, the skin tingling from the hit. ‘You’ve earned this.’

Bokuto beams.

_Akaashi really is the best._

‘Keiji-kun!’

Jolting at the sudden shout, Bokuto sees Akaashi being pulled by the arm. As a result, he falls straight into Atsumu’s arms and, therefore, into one of the tightest hugs Bokuto has ever seen in his life. It’s kind of funny to watch Akaashi being squished into Atsumu’s bare torso, and even funnier to note the utterly blank expression encompassing Akaashi’s face.

‘Atsumu-san,’ he says curtly, ‘I highly suggest you put on a shirt. November is particularly cruel this time of year, and it wouldn’t do you any good to get sick.’

‘I would if I could find my jersey,’ Atsumu tells him, and holds him at arm’s length with a blinding grin. ‘‘Sides, I haven’t seen ya in ages! Can’t I say hello to an old friend? Forgettin’ watcha look like!’

‘Of course you can,’ Akaashi replies, ‘but you can do that _with_ a shirt on.’

Atsumu tuts loudly as he turns to head back towards his bag, muttering _so bossy_ under his breath as he passes Bokuto by. Not even four seconds later and an exchanged look between Bokuto and Akaashi, Atsumu returns, head popping out of his black jersey and hair a mess over his forehead.

‘Happy now?’

‘Yes,’ Akaashi says.

Atsumu huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. Bokuto stifles a giggle and coughs to cover it up, receiving a narrowed side-glance from his teammate.

‘Ya seen Samu? Is he out there?’ Atsumu then asks Akaashi.

‘Running his stand, yes,’ Akaashi replies. ‘Already has a rather long line of customers, so I haven’t had the chance to go and say hello yet.’

‘Oh! Is this the one who makes the good onigiri, ‘Kaashi?’ Bokuto exclaims, beaming when Akaashi nods in affirmation.

‘ _Aha_ , so Keiji-kun’s been ravin’ ‘bout Samu’s cookin’,’ Atsumu teases, poking Akaashi’s upper arm. ‘Hey, did he tell ya how Samu would bribe him to do his homework in exchange for onigiri?’

Giggling, Bokuto says, ‘He did! Still can’t believe it, though,’ and Atsumu barks out a cackle of a laugh.

Akaashi merely rolls his eyes, but there’s a fondness to it that Bokuto has seen him aim at Kuroo and Kenma whenever they had hung out together.

_‘Kaashi and Tsum-Tsum really are close friends, huh?_

‘Tell ya what, Keiji-kun,’ Atsumu says loudly, clapping a hand on Akaashi’s shoulder. ‘Why don’t we, Samu and Bokkun here go out sometime? For dinner? Get to know the new boy better?’

Bokuto gapes at Atsumu, and then at Akaashi when he hums thoughtfully.

‘I don’t see why not,’ he replies. ‘I would like Bokuto-san to get to know Osamu-san as much as he knows you, too.’

‘Great!’ The grin on Atsumu’s face widens as he adds, ‘How ‘bout tonight? After the game?’

‘Unfortunately, Udai-san is here, and needs me to help him with editing,’ Akaashi explains, nose scrunching in mild distaste. ‘Some other time for certain, though.’

‘Udai-san’s here?’ Bokuto repeats.

‘Yes.’ Akaashi sends him a knowing look. ‘He’s quite excited to watch the boy who wanted to take his title of “The Little Giant” make his debut game in a Division One team.’

_I bet he does,_ Atsumu mutters and Akaashi lets out a huff of a laugh. He checks his watch and his eyebrows fly into his hairline.

‘I better head off, you’ll be starting soon. But I’ll see you after the game?’ Akaashi asks, and Bokuto’s mouth drops into an ‘o’.

‘Of course!’ he cries, not giving Atsumu a chance to reply and unable to comprehend why Akaashi would ask such a silly question. ‘Ya better be cheerin’ us on when we score, ‘Kaashi!’

At that, Akaashi smiles and reaches out to pat Bokuto’s shoulder. _Of course I will_ , his face reads, and he waves goodbye to him and Atsumu, who’s loitering by Bokuto’s side. Bokuto watches him go, something warm and fuzzy spreading across his chest.

There’s a beat. Then—

‘I didn’t know you had a boyfriend, Bokuto.’

_Uh oh_.

Bokuto turns around and finds the team staring at him: Inunaki—now donned in a white jersey—has his jaw to the floor; Tomas is blinking at him in equal parts confusion and intrigue; Meian is leaning against the wall, eyebrows raised and lips pulled down in surprise; Hinata looks like he’s about to explode in shock, rocking on the balls of his feet as he stares at him; and Atsumu grins at him from the corner of his eye, pure smugness overriding his features.

_Where’s Oliver-san when you need him?_ Bokuto groans inwardly.

‘I don’t,’ is his answer. ‘I really don’t. ‘Kaashi’s just a friend.’

‘Sure, Bokkun, sure,’ Atsumu drawls and Bokuto scowls at him.

‘As if you can talk Tsum-Tsum,’ Bokuto tells him, and the way Atsumu’s face drops into one of horror makes him smile. ‘Like you and Saku-chan aren’t—’

‘ _Shut up!_ ’

‘—eye-fucking each other constantly,’ Bokuto continues, ignoring the straight wail that blooms out of Atsumu’s throat. ‘Seriously, when are you gonna suck it up and ask him out?’

Atsumu scoffs, throwing a roaring Hinata a filthy look before saying, ‘First of all, who the fuck taught ya to say “eye-fucking”, and second of all, we aren’t eye-fucking. Besides, _yer_ one to talk! Don’t think I haven’t seen the way yer eyes dance whenever ya talk about Keiji-kun, or the entire thing that happened just now with ya huggin’ him. That was _not_ remotely a friendly hug, Bokkun.’

‘Well,’ Bokuto starts as he crosses his arms over his chest and rubs at his chin. ‘Kuroo taught me back in high school, and I just said that ‘Kaashi’s a friend. It’s like you said—haven’t seen him in a while and we’re close. What’s wrong with a hug?’

‘Nothin’,’ Atsumu tells him, ‘but yer telling me to ask Omi-kun out when yer in the same fuckin’ position with Keiji-kun—so don’t be a hypocrite, is what I’m sayin’.’

‘Hah!’ Bokuto points at Atsumu’s nose and grins something wicked. ‘So you admit you wanna ask him out then?’

There’s a pause in which Atsumu simply gawks at Bokuto, mouth parted and eyes comically wide. Then he mutters out _fucking shit_ and Bokuto bursts into hysterical laughter, and is quickly joined by Hinata— _Atsumu-san is in love_ , he sings through heaving, mirth-filled breaths—and they share a stinging high-five. Atsumu merely glares at them, cheeks encompassed in three different shades of red.

‘Shut up,’ he snaps, ‘just shut up,’ but both Bokuto and Hinata continue laughing. Hinata’s squawking something like _Atsumu-san, you’re so red!_ when there’s a deep chuckle from nearby. The trio look over to see Meian push himself off the wall and as a broad grin splits his cheeks.

‘I have no sympathy for you, Atsumu,’ he pipes up. ‘You ran straight into that one.’

Atsumu pouts and raises a hand to point a single finger at his captain.

‘I might’ve,’ he says, ‘but don’t act like yer not as bad as the rest o’us, cause yer not one to talk either! Am I right in hearing that there’s a _rumour_ that yer on more-than-friendly terms with a certain captain of a certain rival team?’

Meian says nothing, stare fixed on Atsumu’s face, but Bokuto gasps when he sees a blush crawl high on his cheekbones.

‘You do!’ he screams, and when Meian vehemently shakes his head— _I sure as hell don’t!_ —Bokuto turns to Atsumu. ‘Oh my god, Tsum-Tsum, who is it?’

A fierce and violent grin forms along Atsumu’s mouth.

‘ _Oho_ , lemme tell ya, Bokkun, it’s—’

‘You breathe another word, Tsumu, and yer arse is gonna be warmin’ that bench next to Coach,’ Meian says firmly, threat clear in his tone.

Hands finding his hips, Atsumu regards their captain with a simple raise of his eyebrows and a lopsided grin.

‘Jokes on ya, Capt’n,’ he says slowly, enunciating each following word with punctuated confidence, ‘because _I_ am the only official setter this team has.’

The sheer smugness on his face lasts for a total of one second before Meian rebuts with, ‘Yes, but Hinata’s been setting somethin’ fierce lately. He can take yer spot.’

‘ _Ooh_ , yeah, that’s true!’ Inunaki adds. ‘Plus his defence has been top-notch lately, so he’s an even better all-rounder than you, Miya.’

With the way Atsumu’s jaw hangs open, it’s enough to send the team into another bout of uncontainable laughter, effectively covering up Hinata’s frantic hands and _no, no, that’s not true—you’re too nice!_ As Atsumu’s hissing out _you suck! You all suck! I hate this team!_ the door to the bathroom cubicle creaks open, and Sakusa walks out, fully dressed in his MSBY uniform. He takes one look at the scene in front of him and cocks an eyebrow.

‘Oh, are we bullying Miya?’ he asks after a second. ‘If so, count me in.’

Atsumu sneers at him, throwing the long sleeve shirt he had worn on the way here onto his bag with nothing short of pure aggressiveness, no doubt as means to turn his back on and ignore his other teammates.

‘I hate your guts,’ he spits at Sakusa.

‘Great—’ Sakusa pops his bag into an open locker next to Atsumu’s and slams it shut. ‘—the feeling’s mutual.’

Nothing is said between them after that, choosing instead to hold each other accountable in a silent staring competition. Both their faces sport deep scowls, neither willing to be the first to back down, and neither of them notice the body moving towards them (Bokuto does, and he fights down the urge to burst out laughing by biting the inside of his cheek).

‘This is the part where you kiss,’ Hinata whispers from underneath their chins, and falls back in a myriad of loud cackles—which Bokuto does as well—when Sakusa and Atsumu immediately step away from each other like they’ve been burned, their stare-off broken.

‘I’d rather drink bleach than kiss Miya,’ Sakusa says plainly, the glare he aims at Hinata unrelenting and sharp.

Atsumu lets out a spluttered set of scoffs and retorts, ‘Yeah, well, I don’t wanna kiss you either! I’d eat my shoe first!’

(No one brings up the fact that Atsumu’s cheeks are bright pink and that the tips of Sakusa’s ears are reddening with each passing second.)

‘Please don’t ingest bleach _or_ a shoe,’ Meian scolds wearily. ‘Now hurry up and get it together—Coach wants a meeting outside in ten minutes.’

That spurs the rest of the team into motion, pulling on last minute uniforms and checking water levels in their water bottles; Tomas finally finishes his call and places his phone into his bag; Hinata becomes eerily quiet, hyper-focused; and Inunaki begins a series of breathing exercises, hands clasped together in front of him and eyes closing.

(And about two minutes later, as they pack up and make the locker room tidy before heading out onto the court, Bokuto watches as Sakusa bends down and whispers urgently to Atsumu _why are you wearing my spare jersey?_ And sure enough, as both Atsumu and Bokuto glance down at the black article, a large fifteen sits comfortably in the centre of Atsumu’s chest and back. It’s enough to make Bokuto raise a curious eyebrow and for Atsumu to hurriedly shuck it off, spewing hissed apologies Sakusa’s way.

(What becomes even more curious is when Sakusa accepts it, gently folds it and puts it into his locker, only to fish out another jersey and shove it into Atsumu’s hands.

( _I gotta talk to Shouyou later about this_.)

* * *

Out of all the celebratory dinners Bokuto has attended throughout his life, the one following MSBY’s win against the Schweiden Adlers is unlike anything he’s ever experienced. Between an ecstatic Meian and a whooping Inunaki, a screeching Hinata and a glowering Sakusa ( _he hates crowds_ , Atsumu had enlightened him through a mouthful of sushi), it’s enough for the other patrons stare in shock at the rowdiness on display.

But pair that with the entire Schweiden Adlers team, several alumni of rival high schools, and Kuroo making a surprise visit, and Bokuto is sure they’ve scared the other restaurant goers out of the establishment.

He had arrived slightly late with Akaashi in tow, having said goodnight to Udai-san a few streets ago; _I’m going to work on my next chapter_ had been his only explanation, but Bokuto had caught sight of an excited spark residing in his eyes as he had turned towards the hotel and waved goodbye.

( _‘You gave him some good material in the interview,’_ Akaashi had murmured in his ear. _‘No doubt he’s going to work on a prototype chapter instead of finishing_ Zom’bish _._ ’)

Both he and Akaashi had been dragged towards the conglomeration of pushed-together tables and messy seating arrangements, drinks and food having been pushed their way (and Bokuto had been delighted at the sight of cow-tongue coming to a stop in front of him, shouting at Akaashi _they’re psychic!_ ) the moment they sat down. Greetings were made, and Bokuto could finally put a face to Miya Osamu, who managed to raise a hand before being barrelled by his brother.

The energy levels are through the roof, conversations being thrown across the table like service aces; Bokuto can barely keep up with any of the topics, but he does manage to grab Hinata’s attention and tell him about what he’d seen in the locker room before the game in a hushed voice.

( _‘Atsumu-san in Sakusa-san’s jersey? Oh, they are totally beyond “eye-fucking” now, Bokuto-san.’_

(Bokuto roared with laughter.)

About an hour and a half and a hundred conversations later, Bokuto and Akaashi find themselves outside, tummies full, cheeks flushed and lips split into huge, mirthful smiles. Bokuto yells into the restaurant that they’ll be back, they’re just going for a walk, and giggles when Akaashi hisses at him through a laugh to keep it down.

The air outside the restaurant is crisp, the first signs of an approaching winter cooling down their flaming faces. They bask in the temperature change, Bokuto blowing out puffs of air just to see the white cloud appear in front of his nose and Akaashi burying his nose into his buttoned-up coat.

 _Oh… that’s so cute_ , Bokuto thinks, smiling inwardly at the idea of poking Akaashi’s cheek with his nose and then his fingers.

No words are exchanged between them for a while, simply walking along the footpath and observing the passers-by. Bokuto notices at least three couples, lost in their own worlds and elbows tucked into one another, eyes on each other rather than where they’re going.

Before he can lose himself in the ideal, Akaashi breaks the silence.

‘You played extremely well, Bokuto-san.’

Stunned, Bokuto glances at him, only to find honestly flaring in his gaze.

‘Yeah… I did, didn’t I?’ Bokuto says slowly. 

‘That reverse-spike was truly something,’ Akaashi concedes.

‘Ya think so?’ Turning so that he’s walking backwards, Bokuto aims at him, ‘Hey, hey, I should make it my signature move or somethin’! Whaddya think, ‘Kaashi?’

‘I don’t see why not.’

Grinning hugely, Bokuto descends into all the different ways he can spike the ball in the future, making sure to only bring out his secret weapon at the height of the game. _Imagine the looks on their faces, ‘Kaashi! They’ll never see it coming!_ Then he ponders over the idea of begging Atsumu to help him with some dangerous tosses, ones that could change the game in a split second and make it go their way—

‘Bokuto-san.’

Bokuto stops talking mid-sentence and faces Akaashi. There’s a strange look taking over his features, one which _could_ be admiration or something (it’s dark and the street lights aren’t exactly bright), and Bokuto finds himself stilling when Akaashi’s fingers reach up and slide over his jaw.

They stand in the middle of the footpath, unmoving, just waiting for Akaashi’s next move.

‘I’m proud of you,’ is what he breathes out after a moment, words forming through the wispy cloud that comes out of his mouth.

Bokuto’s lips tremble as they curve upwards. ‘Yeah. I am, too. Thanks, ‘Kaashi.’

Akaashi pats his cheek a few times, eyes glazed over behind his glasses, and tilts his chin towards Bokuto. Eyes going round, Bokuto takes a step back, clearing his throat to mask the skip his heart has just done.

‘Not yet,’ he whispers, and he flinches at how crestfallen Akaashi looks. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, I’m sorry,’ Akaashi says guiltily. He takes a step back, fingers leaving Bokuto’s face. ‘I shouldn’t have assumed.’

‘It’s okay.’ Smiling shyly, Bokuto holds out his hand and murmurs, ‘Doesn’t mean we can’t hold hands, if you’re game?’

His hand is instantly grabbed by Akaashi’s, their fingers interlocking tightly and palms pressing together. Bokuto doesn’t say anything about it, just swings their joined hands between them as they start walking again, letting Akaashi whisper words into the night.

Another notch gets taken down and Bokuto beams at the stars. 

* * *

The promised Miya-Akaashi-Bokuto dinner takes place near the end of December at the height of the holiday season. Bokuto finds himself walking into a restaurant near _Onigiri Miya_ , spotting the Miya brothers at the other end with Akaashi sitting opposite them, rushing over to them and apologising profusely for being late.

‘Wan-san wouldn’t stop talking,’ he wheezes as he sinks down into his saved seat. ‘Wanted to try and convince me to go bar-hopping with him for New Year’s. I think Tomas-san was about to lose it.’

Atsumu winces sympathetically and says, ‘Say no more, Bokkun. That’s explanation enough.’

Bokuto smiles gratefully at his teammate while Osamu snorts out a laugh, and then turns to Akaashi. ‘What have I missed?’

‘Oh, Keiji won’t tell ya,’ Osamu interrupts before Akaashi can open his mouth. ‘It’s a _secret_.’

Akaashi says nothing and his face remains blank. It makes Bokuto raise an eyebrow at him; he’s stopped from asking what’s going on as a waiter approaches their table, and he hurries to scan the menu while the other three order their food. Finding something he likes, he waits his turn with trepidation, because this is the first time he’s sat down with Akaashi’s _close_ friends. Akaashi’s sat with Kuroo and Kenma many times and always looked like he’d handled each meeting rather well, no amount of concern showing on his face.

And as he points to the menu when the waiter comes to him, Bokuto wonders why he starts thinking of ways to gain Atsumu’s and Osamu’s approval as Akaashi’s—

_What?_ _Friend doesn’t quite sound that right anymore…_

Just as the waiter walks away, Atsumu leans on his elbows and shoots Bokuto a sly look.

‘Bokkun, there’s no need to look so spooked,’ he tells him. ‘We’re not gonna eat ya.’

‘Well, we might, if you hurt Keiji,’ Osamu adds seriously.

Akaashi tuts loudly and whispers, ‘Osamu-san, please,’ but it gets ignored when Atsumu nods solemnly.

‘Nah, he’s right, Keiji-kun.’ He fixes Bokuto with a stern glare. ‘We’ll eat ya then.’

‘Bokuto-san, I am so sorry,’ Akaashi aims at him and Bokuto merely laughs.

‘Don’t be!’ he exclaims. ‘It’s good to see that they’re lookin’ out for ya.’

_Damn right_ flies out of both brothers’ mouths, and Bokuto chuckles at the stink-eye they send each other. His nerves take a backseat as they spike up conversation, and he listens to the three friends bring up old memories from their time in Inarizaki, from how Akaashi first met them to how the brothers nearly got kicked off the team for brawling during one practice to how Osamu had cornered Akaashi in the hallway after class, dragged him into the gym and loudly proclaimed that he was their new manager.

( _I nearly strangled him_ , Akaashi told a snorting Bokuto. _He hadn’t come to me beforehand or asked me if it was something I wanted to do—just straight up grabbed me by the arm and took me there._

( _What he won’t tell ya is how he threatened to never again give Samu the honest truth about his recipes_ , Atsumu interjected. _Samu nearly cried!)_

And that’s how it goes, even as the food arrives and they dig into their meals: Bokuto listens to them reminisce and includes his own memories into the conversation— _whoa, you really did that in your third year? Damn, Bokkun, that’s naughty!_ —Akaashi looks at him every so often to make sure he’s doing alright, and the brothers gesture wildly with their hands and chopsticks.

At a certain angle, Bokuto thinks how this is very similar to hangouts with Kenma and Kuroo.

‘But y’know, Bokkun,’ Atsumu pipes up around a mouthful, having just recounted the time he and Osamu had caught their captain kissing their ace in the storage room. ‘I gotta tell ya somethin’: Keiji-kun talks about ya. A _lot_.’

‘And this is from a guy who doesn’t talk much in the first place,’ Osamu adds. ‘I think me and Tsumu know more about you than you do.’

‘Ah…’ Bokuto’s not entirely sure what to say, and he risks glancing over to Akaashi; there’s nothing on his face, expression completely impassive, but Bokuto picks up a slight edge to his gaze as he stares at the brothers. Clearing his throat, Bokuto asks, ‘Good things, I hope? That you know ‘bout me?’

‘Are ya kidding?’ Atsumu states, eyes comically wide and tone nothing short of _serious_. ‘According to ‘im, yer flawless.’

‘Atsumu-san.’ All eyes turn to Akaashi, who’s glaring at Atsumu from the top of his nose and whose lips are in a straight line. ‘You certainly don’t know the meaning of _keeping a secret_ , do you?’

‘Oh, that was intentional,’ Atsumu rebuts instantly, and for the first time that evening, Akaashi’s face transforms into a deep scowl. Osamu lets out a snort and says _wow, yer actually mad at that, Keiji? Do I needa get the texts out for proof? I’m sure Bokuto would like that,_ only for Akaashi to flick some rice at him in retaliation.

‘Hey, hey, not the face!’ Osamu cries. ‘And don’t waste the rice—it’s _sacred_.’

‘Serves you right,’ Akaashi quips, and Bokuto catches a smug grin tugging the corners of his mouth. 

It’s enough for Osamu to start grumbling into his food and Atsumu to poke fun at his brother’s demise. While funny to witness, all Bokuto can focus on is the fact that Akaashi feels a lot more than he’s letting on.

What’s even more alarming is how he feels nothing but a tiny flutter in his stomach at the revelation, and the urge to know all of Akaashi’s secrets while wrapped in fluffy blankets and tangled legs overrides his common sense.

The rest of dinner is a blur, and now they’re discussing dessert with vigour, one brother more determined than the other to win the heated debate that they know the better place to go have dessert.

Watching Akaashi laugh and the Miya brothers bicker over which dessert place _is_ better (‘ _No, it’s the parlour down the road—’ ‘No, it’s the bakery next door!’_ ), Bokuto leans forward and joins in, nearly busting a lung at the pair of dazed expressions when he suggests the egg waffle shop a few blocks away. Akaashi agrees immediately, and the next thing they know is they’re walking down a snowy path towards an ice rink, Osamu and Atsumu racing each other, and Akaashi holding out his egg waffle for Bokuto to try.

He takes an eager bite and tastes strawberry, matcha, and a new horizon in the colour navy blue.

(And in private on the way home, Bokuto slips Akaashi a small paper bag and a whispered _happy late birthday, ‘Kaashi._ When all Akaashi does is shoot him a puzzled look, he laughs and adds, _what, did you think I forgot? I know it was at the beginning of the month and I wasn’t in Tokyo for it, but that doesn’t mean ya don’t deserve a present!_

(Akaashi smiles, thanks him and hugs him, and Bokuto thinks how easy it would be to just turn his head and gently…

( _Not yet._

( _But soon._ )

* * *

‘Stop being so—’

_I’m not being selfish._

_I never have been._

‘Volleyball isn’t—’

_Yes. Yes, it is._

_And_ you _no longer have a hold on me._

Once a quiet observer, now an avid partaker.

* * *

New Year comes and goes in the blink of an eye, surrounded by burning incense and brightly packaged omamori charms. Bokuto had gone to Tokyo to celebrate with his family, Kuroo and Kenma, making sure to pick up a bright pink omamori charm with gold embroidery at the temple, lest he needs the good luck to see the year through in _this_ aspect of his life.

(Maybe he doesn’t really need it, but when something as profound as love makes a quiet reappearance, edging through his ribs and curling around his heart, anything that can act as a safety net is perhaps a wise thing to possess.)

The charm doesn’t get its grand debut for the first couple of months of the year. The MSBY Black Jackals took the winter holidays as a time for recuperation before going straight back into training, albeit with many tales under their belts, which they spend the first practice of the year discussing.

Inunaki details the first European Christmas he’s ever celebrated, telling the team about the amazing food Tomas and his sister had cooked, and shows them the countless photos of the Christmas tree they had decorated together. Meian states that he hadn’t gotten up to much, other than going up to Nagano for a few days and then spending time with the family. Barnes’ is probably the most interesting, explaining in broken Japanese the way Australians celebrate Christmas ( _as it’s summer there and boiling hot_ , he explains), complete with backyard barbeques and trips to the beach ( _you’ll be surprised how popular beach volleyball is there,_ he tells them, and Hinata visibly vibrates at this fact). Hinata was up in Miyagi the whole time, and tells them how his younger sister Natsu is going to continue playing volleyball in high school, and Bokuto perks up when he says that she’s going to attend Niiyama Girls’. 

(Atsumu and Sakusa remain rather quiet through it all, but when Bokuto texts Osamu after practice, asking why they are acting so strange, Osamu blissfully informs him that they had kissed under the mistletoe he had hung up in his restaurant, and then immediately confessed that they had been dating for a number of months. Bokuto isn’t sure whether to scream or drag Atsumu into a corner and force him to spill the beans on _everything_.

(He does the latter and Atsumu actually has the audacity to look bashful.)

But now, it’s the beginning of March, an off-season break, and Bokuto is standing in front of a door in a white-lit corridor in the middle of the afternoon. He carries nothing on him save for that pink charm, which hides deep in his pants’ pocket, clutched in his fist.

Amongst all the chaos of the New Year, Bokuto’s interactions with Akaashi have been limited to video calls and late-night texts. When Bokuto had been in Tokyo for the festivities, Akaashi’s parents had taken him to an onsen out of the capital, therefore missing each other by a day.

( _‘A day! A_ whole _day, Akaashi! I knew I should have caught that earlier train—’_

( _‘We’ll catch up in person soon enough, Bokuto-san. I’m sure of it.’_ )

At the present moment, there are no interruptions, nothing stopping them from seeing each other. During their video call last night, Akaashi had mentioned having a day off today, and Bokuto wanted to squeal out loud at the impeccable timing. A day off to make up for the whole day they’d missed each other at New Year’s… this was a good sign, indeed.

Rearranging his Tokyo room to look like the one in his Osaka apartment for the call had been tricky, but Bokuto could not afford to spoil the surprise. And as he lifts his hand and raps loudly against the wood, something rouses awake in his chest, opening one bleary eye and slowly rising to its feet with each passing second.

The minute the door opens and Akaashi’s head appears through the crack, it bends its knees, ready to pounce.

Akaashi looks like the opposite, ready to roll back onto his side and fall asleep rather than do anything remotely physical. His hair is a mess of curls linking with each other, sticking up all around his head, his eyes are puffy, glasses absent from his nose, and he’s wearing a large jumper that makes Bokuto want to wrap his arms around him and nuzzle his face into it, it’s _that_ soft.

For a nanosecond, they simply stare at each other: Akaashi’s eyes widen and Bokuto’s lips stretch into a large grin.

‘Bokuto-san!’ A shocked laugh passes his lips. ‘This is a pleasant surprise!’

‘Yeah, surprise!’ Bokuto cries. He clears his throat and says offhandedly, ‘I was in the area and thought I’d pop by.’

Akaashi smiles in a way that tells him he doesn’t believe that for a moment, but what he says is, ‘You didn’t say anything about coming up last night when we spoke. But I suppose that was all part of the surprise. Oh, do come in, sorry—’

Bokuto steps into the genkan and removes his shoes, waving Akaashi off when he apologises for the mess— _please excuse me, I wasn’t expecting visitors_ —and breathing out a short sigh.

‘It’s really good to see you, ‘Kaashi,’ he murmurs.

Not saying anything, Akaashi grabs Bokuto’s hands and squeezes them tightly, the hold saying _it’s good to see you, too_. Bokuto notices large ink stains on his fingers, but doesn’t get to tell Akaashi off for working on his _day off_ when he walks into the living room and calls over his shoulder _I’ll make tea! Make yourself at home._

There’s only been a handful of times in the past where Akaashi’s apartment has been the place to hang out, or the times when Bokuto saw it in passing accompanying Akaashi home or when he had forgotten something (most times his lunch or an important manuscript he’d left on his desk). He can’t say he’s ever had the chance to fully take it in, but now he allows himself to rake over the succulents sitting on the windowsill in the living room, of the small coffee table in the centre and the stack of books in a small shelf by the bedroom door.

(Bokuto is pleased to notice the book he had gotten Akaashi for his birthday is out on the coffee table, bookmark stuck between the pages and a blanket thrown over the arm of the couch. Warmth spreads through him at the thought of Akaashi having been reading all morning, tucked into his blanket with the morning sun streaking across his face.

(Then he chuckles when he remembers that Akaashi is _not_ a morning person.)

When Akaashi brings out the tea, they spend the next few hours catching up on the past few months. Even though they’ve been talking to each other frequently, Bokuto has to admit that speaking in person is by far the best: he gets to see Akaashi’s reactions to his stories in real time and in full colour, gets to hear the low intonation of his voice in the quiet of the room in perfect quality, and gets to see for himself the amount of pills that adorn Akaashi’s jumper, the fine lines of ink meeting skin on his fingers, the true sparkle of the glitter on Akaashi’s socks.

And on the topic of glitter—

‘Oh, I must show you the funniest thing I got the other day,’ Akaashi informs him, putting his cup of tea down onto the table and rising to his feet. ‘One of the other editors in the office was having a hard time with one of the serials she’s editing, and she came into my office to discuss it—come on, I’ll show you, it’s in my room—’

Following Akaashi as he enters his bedroom, Bokuto stands in the doorway, allowing Akaashi’s voice to fade into the background as he drinks in the space.

It’s the same as it had been all those months ago, walls still strewn with manga posters and the desk still covered in papers even as Akaashi bends over the piles and rustles through them. There’s a pale red bedspread covering his pillows and blankets, neatly made and semi-wrinkle free, and bordered by two bedside tables.

He pictures Akaashi with those sheets pooled around his waist, content, smiling, reaching out to Bokuto and pulling him for a short kiss, and sucks in a deep breath.

‘Bokuto-san? Is everything alright?’

Turning at his voice, Bokuto sees Akaashi loitering near the foot of the bed, with what looks like a card and his glasses held loosely between his fingers. At his lack of reply, the items meet the semi-wrinkle free bedspread and Akaashi moves to stand in front of him instead. There’s curiosity in his gaze, eyes focused on his face.

Bokuto lets the breath out through his teeth.

_This is it._

‘Akaashi, there’s something I need to tell you.’

Akaashi blinks at him and asks, ‘What is it? Are you alright?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, more than alright! I’m great!’ Bokuto assures as he reaches out to rub Akaashi’s arms. ‘I’m just…’

The words get stuck and he groans inwardly.

_C’mon, Koutarou, you’ve been practicing this. Just say it. It’s not hard! Just pretend it’s your mirror again and Akaashi’s your reflection, okay?_

‘Fuck, sorry, I thought this’d be easy,’ he says, shaking his head incredulously at his own ineptitude to just say what’s on his mind.

But kind Akaashi, darling Akaashi, tells him, ‘Take your time,’ and Bokuto’s amongst the clouds.

_Just do it!_

‘‘Kaashi, I—’ He swallows thickly, sighs, and breathes out, ‘I wanna try again… I wanna try again, with you.’

At first, Akaashi stares at him, utterly bemused. But then as the implications behind Bokuto’s words no doubt filter through, he gasps softly, eyes becoming round and mouth parting.

‘I—are you sure?’ he asks after a second, tone slightly concerned. ‘Not that I don’t want to, but are you sure you’re ready?’

Running his palms down the sleeves of this truly, _incredibly_ soft jumper, Bokuto takes his hands gently into his, nods and murmurs, ‘Yeah… yeah, I’m sure.’

The next thing he knows is that Akaashi has tackled him into a hug, holding on tight, astonished, and Bokuto hugs back just as hard, if not harder.

What he doesn’t expect is the, ‘Thank you,’ that’s whispered into his ear.

‘What for, ‘Kaashi?’ Bokuto asks in confusion, because what does Akaashi have to thank _him_ for?

‘Thank you for trusting me,’ he replies and Bokuto stills. He chooses not to respond, tucking his face into Akaashi’s neck, losing himself in his smell and warmth against his cheeks. 

They stay like that for a few moments before they part, tears lining their lashes and looks of relief painting their faces.

‘We’ll take it slow this time,’ Akaashi says resolutely. ‘You know… start over.’

Bokuto grins. ‘Yeah, sounds good.’ He pauses, sniffs, and asks, ‘Would you, um… would you like to have lunch with me tomorrow?’

Akaashi smiles and Bokuto feels something slam into him with the force of a cannonball. It’s infectious, his own smile splitting his cheeks.

‘I’d love nothing more.’

Bokuto lets out a gentle laugh. Then he clears his throat, looking Akaashi right in the eye. His smile wavers slightly and a slight frown graces his forehead, the silent question of _what’s wrong?_ filling the corners of his face.

_Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s perfect._

‘Thank you, ‘Kaashi,’ Bokuto tells him, and goes on after Akaashi raises his eyebrow, ‘for everything. For loving me, I guess. Giving me a chance and stuff. For letting me be myself.’

‘Bokuto-san.’ Akaashi’s voice is sincere but strong. His hands find Bokuto’s again, fingers locking with his and grip firm. ‘I wouldn’t want you any other way, and for those who told you otherwise in the past… well, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you.’

Simply huffing out a chuckle, Bokuto keeps his gaze on their hands.

‘It’ll be hard…’ he starts. ‘Y’know, between Osaka and here and—’

‘I don’t care about that,’ Akaashi tells him sternly, and Bokuto’s jaw falls shut with a loud clack. ‘All I care about is you. We’ll make it work. I’m not giving up on this before it starts.’

Bokuto grins at that and says shrilly, ‘‘Kaashi, you didn’t give up even on the day we met. Do I need to remind you who it was exactly who asked for _my_ phone number? Who said he didn’t want it to be the last he saw of me?’

‘And I regret none of that forwardness,’ Akaashi argues, albeit with a smile. His fingers disappear into Bokuto’s hair as he leans up to place a chaste kiss on Bokuto’s lips. ‘Not now, because it got us here, in whatever roundabout way you want it to be.’

‘Yeah…’ Bokuto agrees, sealing their mouths together in another short kiss. ‘It did.’

Akaashi smiles—large, fond, delighted, and whatever other words exist in the dictionary of love—and it’s so beautiful and warm and golden and it makes Bokuto’s soul soar and he just has to kiss it again, and again, and again…

Laughter fills the apartment, muted gold streaking through the curtains and landing on them in squiggly rays. Time stops, the world stops, the birds stop, their little happy bubble impenetrable as they lose themselves in each other’s touch.

And as Akaashi presses another kiss to his lips, Bokuto thinks how funny it is, the way sunset hits differently as he falls back into the deep end.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/vwritesaus/) about bokuaka & haikyuu, and make sure to check the other amazing fics in this collection!! you won't regret it ♡


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